Love Is
by MGMK
Summary: A collection of ficlets created from the Love Is... comics; Bringing this over from Tumblr. Posted in ten ficlet increments.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note:** So, like, as practice or something, I've decided to post these short little ficlets. I originally had them on Tumblr but I don't think all of you guys Tumbl and that's not fair so…I guess you can call it a series. It's Brittana (isn't everything?, lol), at any and all times of their relationship, set to the comic strip known as "Love Is". I'm not gonna do all of them… well, maybe.

* * *

_**Love is…sometimes being at each other's throats, but always in each other's arms.**_

"I don't understand why it's such a big deal," Brittany complains, her voice sharpening around the edges – which basically means she's past annoyed and teetering on angry.

Santana looks at her through their bedroom mirror, pursing her lips together momentarily before removing her last contact.

"It's a big deal because I don't feel like being gawked at like some freak show, okay?" Santana snaps back, that old fear burning big and bright in her eyes.

Brittany rolls her eyes. "No one's gonna gawk at you," she refutes, trying to maintain her calm as she takes a couple of toss pillows off of the bed. "You're being paranoid. Look, I just want to show off my awesome girlfriend. Is that a crime?"

"Britt," Santana sighs, turning down the blankets and climbing in, her tired body gracefully sliding under the sheets, "Of course it's not a crime. And it's not that I don't want to go with you," Santana tries to explain it as best she can, "I just don't want to deal with those idiots you work with."

Those _idiots_, Brittany thinks sourly, happen to be some of Brittany's closest friends. Granted, she does kind of make friends rather easily and she doesn't know much about the five guys she spends most of her evenings after classes with, but she's pretty sure that a group of guys who can twirl pizza dough in the air while singing all the lyrics to _The Real Slim Shady_ _aren't_ idiots.

"My friends are not idiots, Santana," Brittany says, her voice taking on that sad/angry quality it gets when she's wounded deeply. "And I don't even think I want to go with you now," she mumbles, pushing her body back out of bed.

"Brittany," Santana groans, in no mood for an argument that involves moving, "Where are you going?"

"For a walk."

**o-X-o**

"And then she's all," Brittany starts, shifting the phone against her ear as she stares down at the ground, "'your friends are idiots blah blah blah' and I…I had to leave Quinn or I might have said something I would have regretted like…no sex for a week or, you know, three hours."

Quinn snorts across the line. "Where are you now?"

"Down the street at the neighbor kids' treehouse. They don't even lock this place up at night, you know?" Brittany sighs, shivering a little as the night breeze kicks up for a minute. "I don't get why she's still so scared. Everyone knows now and she's still afraid. Even when she knows I'll protect her through anything. Like, I just wish that I was enough. That she'd just say, 'Screw it' and be mine, openly."

"Well, you know Santana…"

Brittany puffs out her cheeks in frustration. "Yeah…"

"She talks a pretty good game but…"

Brittany quirks an eyebrow, "Uh-huh."

"…it's all talk. She's still like a little kitten in the end though."

Brittany presses her lips together, "Well, I wouldn't go that far-"

"No, she is. And you're right. She has no reason to be so afraid. People seem pretty cool with the gays these days."

"Yeah," Brittany tries to intervene again, frowning, "But there's still your random meanies, you know? San does have a poi-"

"And she has _you_. She just needs to stop being such a punk."

Brittany's frown deepens into a scowl. "You know what, Quinn. I don't appreciate you talking about Santana like that-""

"Britt-"

"I called you for advice and to maybe let off some steam, not bash my girlfriend-

"_Brittany_-"

"I mean sure, she's a little wary when it comes to being out around strangers but, it's understandable. We haven't had some big purple glittery carpet rolled out for us, you know?" Brittany says, ignoring Quinn's attempts to cut her off. "And she's making big strides. Like, last week, a couple of her classmates came over for a study session and Santana totally kissed me in front of them. Tongue and everything. So, see? She's getting better. She just needs a little…" Brittany slows as Quinn grows quiet, the pieces clicking into place, "…she just needs a little more time."

Brittany looks up at the night sky, suddenly feeling the urgency to be with Santana and pronto. "Quinn?"

"Yes Brittany?"

"I think I'm gonna head back home."

Quinn chuckles knowingly.

"Yes, Brittany."

**o-X-o**

Brittany checks her smile when she sees Santana's eyes snap shut the moment she enters the bedroom and she crosses the room quickly, climbing under the covers on her side, a slight distance between her and Santana's body.

Santana shifts her foot back, brushing against Brittany's and then sliding away again, unable to hold in her gasp. "Britt, you're freezing."

Brittany reaches over, pulls Santana into her arms. "Warm me up, then."

Santana sighs, turning over and snaking her arms around Brittany's torso, blinking up at Brittany through the darkness. "Where'd you go, Britt-Britt?"

"Nowhere," Brittany breathes against her hair, tucking a kiss against Santana's forehead. "I'm always here with you."

* * *

_**Love is…covering the wall with "I love you."**_

_Painting._

_Is. _

_Stupid._

Now, when her abuela had first mentioned the chore and the dollar amount to be paid – as well as all you can eat tortas – Santana jumped at the opportunity.

When Abuela hesitantly added a quiet invitation for Brittany as well, Santana could have cried she was so happy.

Now, though, staring at the endless stretches of royal blue that must miraculously be transformed into pastel pink by day's end, she's regretting her decision.

Big time.

Brittany stretches beside her, yawning lightly, the cut off sweatshirt she's wearing riding up even higher and giving Santana an awesome view of delicious abs. "Where'd you want to start?" she asks, looking around the basement and Santana shakes her head to clear all the naughty thoughts.

Her grandmother may have given her every type of flux regarding her coming out but she doesn't want to be responsible for the woman's death and she's pretty sure if she acts on any of her imaginings that'll be the case.

"I'll start on this wall," Santana says, gesturing to her left. "And you can do that one. That way we'll get double the work done in the same time," she continues.

_And you won't be_ too _distracted by your adorable, hot girlfriend._

"Okay," Brittany nods, grabbing a can of paint, tray, and roller before skipping over to the other side of the room, her loose pony bouncing as she goes.

Santana turns back to her section and shrugs before rolling up her (non-existent) sleeves, feet crinkling on the plastic tarp as she walks over to her own tray, already loaded and ready to go.

The first line rolls on smoothly and she smiles at the nice line of pink she creates with one downward stroke – but then she chances a glance to her right, the blue stretching on until eternity.

_I repeat._

_Painting._

_Is._

_Stupid._

**o-X-o**

She's about a third done on her side when she happens to glance over her shoulder at Brittany…and gets stuck.

Brittany's bopping around to some song, something only she can hear, and there's a smudge of pink paint drying on the bridge of her nose from where Brittany must have scratched an itch before.

Her sweatshirt has fallen off of one shoulder and the bandana she'd had tied around her hair is now fallen around her neck like a cowgirl.

She's actually managed to cover a little more than Santana and Santana's a little surprised because Brittany – though she loves her dearly – has a little bit of an attention problem so the fact that she's stayed on task and done so so diligently is pretty remarkable.

And, as Santana keeps watching, (she watches Brittany's tongue poke out in the corner as she stands on her tiptoes to make her next stroke, pressing nice and even so that the paint covers and distributes perfectly), it makes her heart flutter to think that Brittany's trying so hard for her benefit.

Trying so hard to impress Abuela.

Santana turns back to her wall.

**o-X-o**

"Psst."

Brittany almost jumps a little and Santana bites back her smile when her girl turns to look at her, her blue eyes large and blinking slowly as they readjust, her stare skipping just past Santana to the wall behind her.

Santana feels warm as Brittany's lips widen into a grin when she takes in the words, giggling and spinning around to scrawl her own message.

_Hey. U look cute, 2 _

Santana dips the sash brush into the paint can, carefully spelling out her next words.

_Do u have a girlfriend?_

Brittany laughs cutely at Santana's cheeky grin.

_Yeah. Sorry. UR still cute, tho_

Brittany finishes off her last line with a winking smiley and Santana laughs; happy, bashful, and adoring all at once.

She doesn't say anything and Brittany turns back around, writing out another message, painstaking and meticulous.

_I love you _she writes and Santana's grin relaxes so much that's she's not even really smiling anymore.

She's just…feeling.

And loving.

"Okay, Niñas, I have lunch. And I want you both to eat it _all_. You girls are too skinny," Abuela says, her footsteps light on the stairs as she makes her way down.

Santana's eyes widen, panic setting in as she stares at Brittany's and hers messages, wondering what Abuela will say – what Abuela will think.

The woman walks into the room, her gait slowed a little by age, the plates and glasses on the tray she's carrying clinking together slightly.

She sets it down on the plastic covered table in the middle of the room and sighs, looking around to assess the girls' progress.

Santana bites her lip, her eyes dropping to the floor worriedly for a moment. She wants/needs/craves more than anything the comfort of Brittany's body – her embrace and the reassurance it would provide – but she knows it'd be pretty impossible right now.

Abuela smiles at the pink coloring the basement walls, the lines around her eyes crinkling but then she gets to the lettering, Santana and Brittany's little (well, actually they're pretty big) love notes, and the smile is wiped away.

"Ay, you two love birds," the woman says, clicking her tongue, but her tone is not one of disgust, not even of bitterness or disappointment. She sounds almost…teasing. "Who'd ever thought I'd see the day when my surly Santanita would be so moonstruck. Reminds me of your abuelo, God rest his soul. He was always… cómo se dice…mushy?"

Santana gasps and Brittany giggles, her eyes twinkling.

"Abuela," Santana squeals, her face feeling hot.

"What?" the woman asks with a shrug, knowing exactly what she's doing. "It's true. Now, sit. Eat," the woman says, eyeing them both seriously, "all of it," she finishes sternly.

"Si Abuela," both girls say in chorus, just like they would before everything came out.

It's a little jarring and they all pause for a moment, but just as quickly, the cogs start turning again and Santana pulls out Brittany's chair for her without really thinking about it, smiling shyly when Brittany grins up at her with a quiet _thanks_.

Abuela chuckles, shaking her head and mumbling something in Spanish that Santana doesn't quite catch, only able to make out the words 'hopeless' and 'love', before turning to go back upstairs. "I'll be back when _Days of Our Lives_ goes off," she calls, climbing the stairs one at a time. "Jenn was getting ready to finally confront Daniel about the DNA switch."

Santana laughs, feeling incredibly good about everything as she picks at her sandwich.

"Don't play with your food, San," Brittany chastises lightly around a mouthful of ham and cheese, squeezing Santana's knee.

"I love you," Santana blurts, then wrinkles her nose a little.

She hadn't exactly meant to say that.

Brittany chuckles. "I know you do," she says, her tone light. "And your abuela is totally right. You _are_ mushy."

* * *

_**Love is…helping her stick to her diet.**_

Brittany knows her wife inside and out.

Or, at least, she used to.

She used to know Santana's quirks and ticks and, most importantly, how to use her tongue to bring Santana to orgasm.

(Actually, she's still got that last part down.)

She used to know when Santana was happy, sad, angry, hungry, sleepy, horny, or bored.

She used to be able to read Santana like those easy reader books about John and Jane running.

And then…

Then Santana got pregnant.

Brittany has no idea who she's living with anymore.

**o-X-o**

When Mike comes to visit Santana hits him in the chest…_hard_ a second before bursting into uncontrollable sobs and mumbling about how 'Boy-Chang is never around anymore' and how much she missed his 'Gumby ass' – which, yeah, Brittany didn't know _what_ to do with that.

"I…missed you too?" Mike says or asks, his eyes searching Brittany's for assistance as Santana's tears start leaking onto his sweater, but, Brittany's got nothing.

Sniffling, Santana starts to pull away and Mike brightens, remembering. "Oh," he smiles, brushing absently at the stubble on his face, "I got you something," he tells Santana. "Hang on."

Mike disappears for a minute and Brittany watches Santana, wary, but Santana's tears have gone, replaced with a giddiness that's been somewhat absent these past months.

"Tada," Mike laughs, holding up the bucket like it's made of gold and Brittany's face falls.

Uh oh.

Santana takes in a shaky breath, her hand moving to rub at her swollen belly and Brittany gets in between her and Mike.

Fast.

"Hey Mikey, look, can you come visit tomorrow night," Brittany says, ushering him out of the door. "It's late and Santana needs her rest," she continues, walking him down the walkway and out of earshot and as soon as she thinks Santana can't hear she pushes him toward his car. "Run," she hisses, looking back to the house worriedly.

"What?"

"Santana hates breadsticks. She's pregnant and for some reason they make her sick so I suggest you get the hell out of dodge before she goes crazy preggers lady on you."

Mike looks back to the house, his eyes widening in horror when he sees a furious – though waddling across the porch cutely – Santana angrily speaking Spanish and glaring at him.

"But what about you?" he asks, grabbing Brittany's forearm but she shakes him off.

"It's already too late for me," she whispers, pushing him away again. "Save yourself."

Brittany makes it to Santana before the other woman can even make it off the steps, breathing easier now that Mike's car is speeding away and she'll no longer be required to lie under oath at Santana's murder trial.

"Can you believe that cabron?" Santana says, voice shrill. "He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," Brittany says, wrapping an arm around her and leading her back into the house before the neighbors – well, _more_ neighbors – come out. "He didn't know."

Santana's calmed quite a bit now and once they get inside and Brittany's locked the door behind them, she turns to find her wife standing there, staring absently at the abandoned bucket of breadsticks.

She looks either horny…or hungry.

"Santana?"

Santana's head tilts sideways. "What…if I only ate _one_ breadstick?"

"No," Brittany says, shaking her head and quickly rounding in front of Santana. "No, San. They'll make you sick."

"Half a breadstick."

"Santana," Brittany whines, "You puked for days. And, _and_, you were complaining the other day about how you couldn't fit into that sundress you love."

Santana reaches for the bucket but Brittany snatches it away, determined to stay strong.

"Brittany, I want a breadstick," Santana says calmly, rubbing her belly again.

"Santana, I'm only doing this for your own good."

"Brittany, I swear to God I will divorce you if you don't hand those over."

Brittany bites her lip and for a moment she can see that Santana feels bad but then she sees the tip of a breadstick and it passes.

"But you said-"

"I know what I said," Santana interrupts shrilly in a tone Brittany's sure only dogs can hear, "But I changed my mind and who cares if I fit into that stupid dress. I'm pregnant, remember?"

"I know you are."

"And you love me," Santana says, stepping closer, "Remember?"

"Santana," Brittany sighs, "Of course I remember."

"So, even though your pregnant wife is begging for a breadstick and you love her very much, you're still not going to give her one?"

Brittany gulps, then nods.

Santana sighs, shoulder drooping dramatically before turning away and heading toward their bedroom.

"Okay," she calls behind her, "I want sex then."

Brittany sighs, then snort-laughs, moving to toss the bucket out.

"So it _was_ horny," she says to herself, dropping the food into the stainless steel drum.

"Britt!"

"Coming!"

* * *

_**Love is…the deliciousness of shared sleep.**_

Mrs. Pierce sighs, wiping her hands on the dry towel after placing the last dish in the cupboard.

It's been a long week, one filled with deadlines and dirty clothes, but it's finally Friday night and finally time to relax.

She climbs the stairs to the bedrooms, shaking her head at Brittany's discarded socks sitting on the stairs before picking them up.

She pauses for a minute in Jamie's room, finding the pre-schooler hanging off her bed, apparently her stuffed animals get the prime sleep-estate, and half-buried under the covers.

A few more steps and she's outside of Brittany's room and she frowns at the dim glow spilling out of the still open door, the sounds coming from the television – the television that's supposed to be off – low but still loud enough to be distinguishable enough for her to recognize it as _Oliver's Company_.

"Brittany Susan," she starts to say, pushing the door open completely, but then she sees the girl – well, girls – are sound asleep and stops speaking instantly.

Brittany is breathing deeply, her face half-pressed into a pillow as her body curls into that of her best friend's. Thanks to a recent growth spurt – almost six inches in less than two months, she still can't believe it – Brittany nearly dwarfs Santana, but the smaller girl is still wrapped around her like a blanket, Brittany's protector even in sleep and it's the cutest thing Brittany's mom has ever seen.

But…

There's something else there.

Something in the way Brittany's right hand grips at Santana's shirt, even in sleep.

Something in the way their legs, mostly bared in sleep shorts, are tangled together effortlessly – an uncomfortable jumble of limbs to the outsider looking in.

Something in the way, Brittany's breaths go in and out without even the hint of a snore, a habit which typically plagued the Pierce household at nighttime.

Her daughter looks so relaxed. And if she looks relaxed then the usually hyper, anxious, worried, bashful Santana looks absolutely serene, a small smile on her lips – lips that are currently pressed against Brittany's forehead; a sight that at once looks both innocent and too intimate.

They look like the best of friends.

They look like a married couple.

They look like…they're in love.

* * *

_**Love is...giving her a lick of your ice cream.**_

"Can we…swing in the tire swing?"

"No."

"How about…go digging for earthworms?"

"Ew! Definitely no. Don't even do that one by yourself."

Brittany pouts, staring up at the leaves of the big maple tree as they glint in the sunlight.

It's the summer between freshman and sophomore year of high school and Santana recently decided that she an Brittany aren't little kids anymore which basically translates – as far as Brittany can tell – into not doing any of the fun things they used to do.

Now, Brittany doesn't mind it much. They still get to hang out all the time and phone conversations can go on for hours without reprimand because they're technically teenagers now and there are more positives like make up and cooler, grown up clothes, and a later curfew.

But, being big kids also means no more running around in the mud or catching fireflies at nighttime or riding those little mechanical rides at the supermarket – even though she totally did last week.

(Santana understands. It was a unicorn after all.)

The rules get even more complicated when it comes to boys because even though they're all the same age, the boys don't seem to have nearly as many rules for what's considered grown up or not.

In fact, as far as Brittany can tell, Noah's still the armpit music-making, ripped up jeans-wearing, colorful language-using boy he's always been.

Just a little bit taller and he wants everyone to call him _Puck_ now or whatever.

She doesn't get why they still get to run around and be annoying little goobers and she and Santana have to lie around on sun loungers all the time.

"But lying around is boring, _Santana_," she whines, crossing her arms in frustration.

"We're not lying around," Santana explains calmly, but she rubs at her face in irritation, propping her over-sized sunglasses on the top of her head as she regards Brittany. "We're working on our tans. In order to stay on top, we have to look hot, Britt-Britt. And looking like Casper the ghost is not a turn on for anyone. Just ask Michael Jackson."

"The basketball guy?" Brittany asks in confusion and Santana chuckles, brushing her fingers across Brittany's brow to smooth out the lines.

She freezes after a moment, Brittany realizes, and her smile falters before she's clearing her throat, looking away from Brittany quickly, sliding her glasses back in place. "Just, sit back and soak up the sun. It'll be good for you. Trust me."

"Okay," Brittany sighs, plopping back down in resignation.

She doesn't really want to do this but she really wants to leave Santana even less, so Brittany decides to stay put.

It's kind of weird, but even lying around doing nothing with Santana is funner than doing anything else without her.

Maybe it's because Santana's her bestest best friend forever for life or maybe it's because with everything else around her changing, Brittany wants to hold onto something familiar.

(Or maybe it's because, sometimes, Santana makes her body warm all over and her heart fill so full.)

Whatever it is, Brittany just lies there shivering in the shade and trying to get a tan (they'll find out a couple weeks later that this isn't the best way to go about it), tuning out the sounds of summer until…

The music chimes loudly and there's a cheer from the corner of the block, a gaggle of little kids instantly taking off in that direction and Brittany sits straight up on her lounger, eyes wide.

Santana's sitting up too, now, biting her lip and looking torn.

"Can we Santana?" Brittany asks, her tone pleading and bottom lip poked out really far. "_Please_?"

Santana looks at her, her own lips stretching into a smile. "Okay."

"Yes," Brittany says, pumping her fist before clamoring to her feet, yanking Santana up the next instant. "C'mon. Race you to the truck."

**o-X-o**

Brittany licks at the trail of ice cream sliding down her hand, pointing at a red-faced from running Finn Hudson, dejectedly walking home ice cream-less.

"Ha ha haaa," Santana laughs cutely, eating her own ice cream. "Pudgy doesn't need any ice cream, anyway."

They're in the sun now, Santana explaining that they'll catch colds eating ice cream in the shade, but the afternoon sun is rapidly melting their ice cream and making a mess of things.

"I'm gonna have ice cream soup in a lil' bit," Brittany mumbles, slurping against the cone. "Maybe we should go inside."

"Nah," Santana dismisses. "Just eat it a little faster."

Brittany nods, diving in to lick at her cone again but she's a little too firm and before she can do anything about it, her ice cream tips out of her cone and onto the ground floor with a plop.

"Oh no," Brittany says, more shocked than sad but before her melancholy can even sink in, Santana's thrusting her own cone into her face.

"Here, Britt-Britt," Santana grins, "You can have mine."

"But then you won't have any," Brittany says, unwilling to jump the gun straight away even though her eyes light up excitedly.

Santana shrugs. "I don't mind," she insists, shaking the ice cream until Brittany finally takes it.

"We'll share," Brittany compromises, scooting over on her seat and patting the space next to her so Santana can join.

The other girl rolls her eyes but soon hops up and settles in next to Brittany, the warm skin of her thigh brushing against Brittany's as she gets comfortable.

Santana's got this funny look on her face, a silly half-smile as she watches Brittany enjoying her ice cream and Brittany holds the cone out for Santana to take a lick, giggling a little when some ends up on her nose.

"You're so messy," Brittany says switching the ice cream from her right hand to her left to wipe it away and, as she's pulling away, Santana's hand catches hers by the wrist, tangling their fingers together.

Santana doesn't say anything to Brittany, just leans her head against her shoulder and sits there, quietly.

Brittany doesn't mind finishing the ice cream with her left hand.

* * *

_**Love is…not taking it too serious when she scatters your newly styled hair.**_

Santana sighs, not wearily, but just with the gratification of finally being home.

It's the weekend and she's spent the greater part of her morning and afternoon at the salon and now her hair is cascading down her back in large, flowing ringlets, bouncing and shimmering.

She walks into their home, from the garage and into the kitchen, and there's Brittany, still in pajama bottoms and a tank top, scrubbing at the dishes she's made from having breakfast.

She smiles immediately when she sees her, drying her hands quickly and wrapping her arms around her girlfriend, molding into the kiss she gives her. "You look so cute," Brittany murmurs and before Santana can stop her, her hands are in her hair, ruffling those curls gently.

Santana scoffs, frowning but her heart's not really in it. "Britt, this took _hours_."

"You don't mind it too much," Brittany murmurs, her eyes turning smokey blue; the way they do just before their activities lead them to the bedroom…or the bathroom…sometimes the kitchen.

She loops her arms around Santana's back, tugging her closer as she drops tiny, wet kisses that feel more like promises against the skin behind Santana's ear.

"Nah," Santana agrees, moving her head to give Brittany more room to work, "Not too much."

* * *

_**Love is…when she falls under your spell.**_

They say the definition of madness is doing the **s**ame thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

Well, Santana must be as crazy as they come because she never ever expects to become even more in awe of Brittany each time she sees her dance and yet…

…it happens.

She'll be bringing a load of laundry up from the laundry room and Brittany'll be there; lithe, lean body swaying to the music and Santana'll almost forget how to breathe, spell bound.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Call her mad.

* * *

_**Love is…picking out the seeds from her watermelon.**_

"So then I told him, I said, 'Sam, I really don't get all the fuss about _Star Wars_' and his jaw dropped down so low I was afraid he'd cause some kind of vacuum, black hole effect," Mercedes tells Kurt, sitting her lunch tray on the table.

"Yeah," Kurt nods, sitting down as well. "He doesn't take too kindly to people dismissing his sci-fi. Isn't that right, Santana?"

Santana raises an eyebrow, but stays focused on her task, knowing she doesn't have a whole lot of time left.

Brittany'll be joining them soon.

"Hmm, Carson," she mumbles distractedly. "I couldn't hear you over all the noise."

"But there's no one here yet," Kurt says, looking around the relatively empty lunchroom.

"Yeah, but your outfit is _loud._"

Mercedes chuckles, shrugging her shoulders apologetically when he looks at her, appalled. "Sorry, Kurt. But that was funny."

"Anyway," Kurt drawls out, rolling his eyes and looking back toward Santana, "I see someone really likes watermelon."

She's rifling through the cut fruit, picking out the seeds and dumping them into a waiting Styrofoam cup.

"She doesn't," Mercedes deadpans, looking at her curiously. "I totally remember, because when we had that Trouble Tones sleepover she didn't eat any. And then apologized if her refusal to do so was disrespectful to my ancestors."

Kurt shakes his head at that. "So…if Santana doesn't like watermelon then why does she have a plate full of it?"

"Hey guys," Brittany says, shrugging off her backpack as she sits down and Santana quickly hides the cup of seeds. "Sorry, I'm late but I made a wrong turn at the drinking fountain again. Ooh, seedless watermelon," she grins, pecking Santana quickly on the cheek. "Thank you, baby."

"You're welcome," Santana mumbles through a smile, feeling her face heat up and Kurt and Mercedes' eyes on her.

"Unbelievable," Kurt mutters.

* * *

_**Love is…worrying about her more than the damaged car.**_

"I'm sure she's okay, Brittany," Sam is saying, voice surprisingly steady.

But Brittany can't hear him, her mind flying from one horrifying image to the other.

Santana's been in a car accident.

The car is totaled.

Santana. Accident.

"_We're fine though, Britt_," Puck had said through an oddly exhilarated laugh. "_Your girl's a little shaken up but you should come get a look at your ride though_."

Car.

Totaled.

Santana – _her _Santana – has been in a car accident.

She doesn't even wait until Sam stops the car, seatbelt pulled off and passenger door opened in record speed.

She stumbles as a result but the momentum carries her toward running and soon she's darting between EMT and tow truck driver and paramedic and Puck until-

"Britt."

She spins on the spot, feet crunching over broken windshield glass as she dashes over to Santana (still intact and Brittany prays a silent thanks to every deity known to man).

"Are you okay?" she asks, eyeing the cut just above Santana's right eyebrow before sweeping her gaze all over her girlfriend, inspecting. "Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Santana chuckles a little when she shakes her head. "No, I'm fine," she breathes, sucking in her lower lip nervously. "I'm sorry about your car though, Britt. I know how much it meant to you."

And it does…or it did.

A gift from her grandfather; one he'd made her promise to care for while on his death bed.

But it can fall into a volcano for all she cares (_Sorry Grandpa_) because Santana means _so_ much more.

Brittany shakes her head, grateful when the EMT finishes cleaning up Santana's cut and gives them their privacy.

"But-"

"You're okay," Brittany interrupts, pressing a swift kiss to Santana's lips. "That's all that matters."

* * *

_**Love is…knowing that she believes in you even when you absolutely don't.**_

Brittany's not stupid.

It takes some sort of intelligence to be able to memorize and put together dance routines even if they're for flat-footed oafs like Finn and Sam.

And you have to be kind of smart to be able to find new hiding spaces for Lord Tubbington's fish snacks.

And a person has to be gifted mentally to differentiate between Snarky Santana and Bitchy Santana and 'Why do you even think you're allowed to talk to me' Santana.

And Brittany can do all of those things so she knows she's not stupid.

But sometimes it's hard to remember that.

She just doesn't really_ get_ reading textbooks or writing essays or endless multiple choice tests.

(She likes the tests the best because it's fun spelling out secrets with those little dots on the scantron sheet. And when Santana saw the 'I love San' the other day, she spent the whole rest of the day treating Brittany like she's her favorite person ever – which she totally is so it wasn't really hard or anything.)

The academics part of academia have always been a hang up for Brittany so when she toils over Mr. Turner's study guide on the French Revolution and can't tell the difference between the guillotine and a member of the bourgeoisie, she _knows_ it's hopeless.

But then….

Santana's there. And Santana's reaching an index finger over and drawing her attention to a line, or Santana's highlighting passages for Brittany to re-read, or Santana's talking in a weird French accent to keep her attention on the subject.

Because if there's one person – aside from Brittany – who doesn't think Brittany's stupid, it's Santana.

She believes in Brittany – wholly and truly – especially when Brittany doesn't believe in herself.

Maybe that's what being best friends is all about…

**o-X-o**

"You have the entire period to finish the test," Mr. Turner announces, standing at the head of the classroom, his eyes trained on the large clock on the wall.

They're allowed to flip over the test when the second hand reaches 12 and Brittany does so quickly, her eyes scanning over the questions on the page before she draws her lip between her teeth, worried.

None of it looks familiar.

But then Santana's rapping a pencil against the corner of her desk, eyeing the teacher cautiously before smiling at Brittany. "I believe in you, Britt-Britt."

Brittany's smile threatens to split her face in two.

Oh, and, for the record, she totally got a B-minus on the test.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note: **11-20

* * *

_**Love is… remembering.**_

It's always raining on days like these.

Her abuela used to tell he it was because the angels were crying happy tears, elated that their long-lost friend who'd spent some time on Earth has finally returned to them in Heaven.

When she was younger, it comforted her.

When she was a kid, it was much easier to pretend that solemn occasions like this were actually a cause for celebration.

Now that she's older, she can't find that joy anymore.

Especially when her daughter points at the picture on the cover of the obituary, her big, dark eyes inquisitive. "Who this, Mama?" she asks, speaking around a pink and white pacifier.

"This is your Mama's Abuela," Santana tells her quietly, smiling down at the picture with sad eyes. "You know how you have an abuela? Well, she was your Mama's. But…" Santana heaves a deep breath, glad when Brittany leans into her from the other side, "…she's not anymore. She's gone up to Heaven."

Maya looks up to the church's ceiling, squinting into the lights there like she can see past it and above the clouds. "Is she with Tubby kitty?"

Santana's lips quirk and she pulls the girl into her lap, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "You know what, May? I think so."

Later, when they're standing under an umbrella, Brittany lays the bouquet of flowers on the fresh grave, patting the headstone gently and murmuring something that Santana can't make out except for the quiet _I promise._

Santana lets some tears fall, clutching Maya's hand in her right and the umbrella in her left. "You may have forgotten me Abuela, but I won't forget you," she says, her voice breaking here and there.

Brittany scrambles to get back to Santana, pulling her in close in a sideways hug. "Love is never forgetting," she whispers quietly, leaning her head into Santana's comfortingly.

* * *

_**Love is….feeling like a couple of adolescents.**_

"What are you doing out here?" she asks Santana, grinning at her.

Santana kicks a little, the wooden swing she's sitting on swaying to and fro just inches at a time.

"Just thinkin'," Santana answers her in an airy voice, eyes twinkling.

Brittany's smile widens, "About what?"

"Remember when we were younger, and we went to Miller's Park after curfew?"

"Yeah," Brittany nods, wrapping her fingers around Santana's where they're gripping the swing's rope. "And you were so worried we were gonna get in trouble. Wuss," she teases with a rusty chuckle, laughing earnestly when Santana rolls her eyes playfully. "But I remember," Brittany continues. "What about it?"

"I wished for this," Santana whispers into the sky, her eyes staring up at the stars just making themselves visible. "I wished for us to be exactly how we are right now." She turns her gaze back to Brittany, a somewhat awed expression on her face. "You pushed me higher and higher on that swing," she murmurs, eyes turning playful again, "…like the freakishly strong he-woman you are, and I got so close to the stars – so close that it felt like I could touch them – and I wished on one. I asked for things I'd never been able to ask for aloud back then."

Brittany gives the swing a leisurely push and when Santana comes back, she's closer than before – right where Brittany wants her.

"You wished for us to be in love?" Brittany asks, her lips a breath away from Santana's and Santana nods, hissing out a quiet _yes_.

"You wished for you to be my wife?" Brittany doesn't wait for an answer to that one, sealing their mouths together in a kiss that is incendiary and deep.

"Aw, man," a tiny voice groans from their open kitchen window. "No kid wants to see his moms doing that," their son, Jonathan, says, scrunching up his nose in a way that looks so familiar and they both laugh, Brittany giving her another peck as she pulls away.

"You wished for us to get caught making out like two horny teenagers by our nine year-old?"

* * *

_**Love is…sharing the housework.**_

Brittany never thought that their lives together would get so hectic that they'd rarely get a moment to see one another.

Well, that's not true but between Santana's afternoon classes and evening work shifts and Brittany's morning shifts at the library and school in the evening, their interactions have turned into stolen, quick kisses and quiet nighttime murmuring conversations and shared shower sexytimes.

Not that there's anything particularly wring with _that_.

She'd just assumed that living together would mean more Brittany and Santana time, not less.

Which is why she finds herself craving Saturday mornings and not for the reasons you'd expect.

Sure it's great sleeping in with Santana and letting the sun coax them into consciousness instead of the shrill ringing of an alarm or the quiet goodbye of a lover and she loves, loves, _loves_ getting her sweet lady kisses on while watching Saturday morning cartoons more than anything but what she really loves about Saturday mornings with Santana is the chores.

Not because she's a neat freak or because Santana kissing her while she's sitting on top of the washing machine is awesome (which it is –_ so_ awesome) but because it's the one time of the week when all the rush-rush melts away and there are no papers to worry about writing, no chapters to be read, no hurrying to count out exact bus fare to make it work on time just…

…her; her taking a rinsed plate from Santana's hands, smiling warmly as she dries it.

Or, Santana pulling Brittany's freshly dried hoodie out of the basket of newly clean clothes and slipping it on even if it's exceedingly warm inside their apartment.

It's lame and domestic and if Sam was around he's probably call them boring but Brittany loves it and when Santana's still soapy hands loop around her neck, droplets of sudsy dishwater staining the cotton of Brittany's favorite tee, she wouldn't trade it for anything.

* * *

_**Love is…having her photo on your mirror.**_

She's in love.

After years of denying her feelings and months more of hiding them, she can finally breathe easier and walk with her head held high because she's in love with her girl…

…and her girl loves her back.

She always thought that the Chang Connection were kind of gross with their constant groping and that _thing_ that Berry and Hudson have going on makes her want to staple her eyelids shut but now that she's one of them…she gets it.

She gets why Rachel feels the need to wear Finn's letterman jacket from time to time even though he's humongous and she's tiny so it's kind of like wearing a tent.

And she gets why Mike and Tina can't go two seconds without glancing out of the corner of their eyes at one another – although, truthfully speaking, she can't be absolutely sure they're doing that because, you know, tight eyes and everything.

She gets why they're all goofy, dummy, fluffy butt stupid in love and stuff because she is too.

She writes the little love notes and carries Brittany's books (or really they carry each other's) and smiles for no reason what so ever other than someone said Brittany's name or something that sounded like Brittany's name or…okay so maybe it's just random smiling but whatever, she's in love so it's okay.

So, like, having Britt's picture posted in the corner of her mirror is not _lame_ or _cute _or _stupid_, it's just what people in love do.

And if she blows a couple of kisses at it while she's brushing her hair that's okay too.

* * *

_**Love is…experiencing the same feelings.**_

Sometimes she's surprised by how much she and Santana are on the same page.

It's just weird how Mr. Schue will say something, you know, kinda _dumb_ and she'll turn to Santana and they'll both have these looks on their faces like '_Can you believe him?' _and '_How does he even still have a _job_?'_

It's not like it doesn't make sense; Heaven knows that with how much time they've spent together they're bound to be on the same wavelength every once in a while.

But all the time?

It's uncanny.

It works to their advantage sometimes; able to carry on conversations without ever uttering a word which makes U.S. government so much more tolerable.

Sometimes it's a disadvantage; Brittany's mom knowing exactly when they're on the brink of doing something slightly more devious – Brittany kinda really loves it when Snix comes out to play.

And then other times, them being on the same page works just right.

Like, just a second ago, when Rachel had yet another 'I'm not doing Maria justice' breakdown and Blaine was having cowlick issues, and Santana had turned to her, her lips upturned in the most delicious smirk, it's actually pretty awesome that she just knew that that meant 'get to the storage closet now' because Brittany' s hips rocking frantically against Santana's hand, her breathy moans and sighs muffled into the skin of Santana's neck absolutely trumps being with the rest of the Glee club listen to Artie's instruction about the big _America_ number.

When her trembles subside and her feet – though already touching the floor – _feel_ like they're touching the floor, she catches Santana's eye and they share a knowing smile, Brittany's hands already lifting the pleats of Santana's skirt.

Great minds definitely think alike.

* * *

_**Love is…being met with flowers.**_

Santana feels really sleepy, her eyelids really heavy, but she can hear her abuela humming a gentle, soothing tune and even though she feels like she swallowed a bagful of cotton balls, the sound puts her at ease.

"Santanita?" the older woman murmurs questioningly, brushing Santana's hair back from her face and the young girl tries to wake up, her eyelids fluttering dramatically as she manages to keep them cracked open.

She's in a hospital; that much she remembers.

And she remembers being told that her tonsils were to be taken out.

She doesn't know how long she's been out for though.

When she makes to ask, her grandmother hushes her, patting her shoulder gently. "Don't talk, Santana. Your Papa says you need to rest your voice."

Santana nods, and she wonders why her abuela bothered waking her if she needs so much rest.

"There's someone waiting who really wants to see you, Santanita. She's been very worried for you."

_Brittany_ Santana thinks, a smile spreading across her face.

"What do you say?" her grandmother asks. "You up for a little company?"

She nods, her head still feeling like it's full of water and no sooner than she does so is the door to her room opening, her best friend slipping inside and brandishing a makeshift bouquet of flowers – and weeds – proudly.

"Hey Santana," she says excitedly, skipping over to Santana's bedside. She sits the flowers onto the little bedside table, careful as ever when she hops onto the hospital bed. "Mom told me you got your tonsils taken out and that you might not be able to talk but that's okay, I can always figure out what you're saying anyway." She slows down suddenly; leaning down to peer at Santana so closely that, for a moment, all Santana can see is blue. "Are you okay?" Brittany asks quietly, the slight tremor in her voice a tell-tale sign that she's been worried about her friend and Santana smiles a small smile, reassuring her with a quick nod and Brittany breathes out in relief against her face, making Santana's eyes flutter shut in response.

"Good 'cause I can't wait until they let you out of here. They told me what kind of foods you can and can't eat so I got Mom to get a whole lot of ice cream and jell-o so when you come over, you don't have to worry. And I bought you this little notepad and pen so you can commute with me when you want to," Brittany rushes onwards, chattering a mile a minute as if making up for lost time and Santana just watches with a grateful smile.

She can't really help _but_ love Brittany most times.

* * *

_**Love is…not expecting too much of each other.**_

She's no saint.

Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Santana doesn't put quarters in parking meters and she sneaks her own food into the movie theatre ('cause, and she quotes, "BreadstiX breadsticks make popcorn its bitch") and she always uses the handicapable bathroom stall – even, no, _especially_ when Artie's around.

So, Santana's pretty much like the most _un_-Saint-like person Brittany knows.

And she doesn't expect her to be, which makes all of Santana's less than favorable behaviors completely okay in Brittany's book.

They both have their flaws, everyone does, but seeing past those flaws, seeing perfection in them; that's what being in love is all about.

So, like, Brittany doesn't expect Santana to run into burning buildings to save anyone (except maybe Lord Tubbington – _oh God_, she'd give it up to Santana for days if she _ever_ did that) and she doesn't expect Santana to suddenly start treating Rachel like a human being (that would require being nice to her boyfriend and neither one of them is down with that yet) and that's fine.

Santana doesn't have to be _good_.

She just has to be _Santana_.

And that's more than enough for Brittany.

It also makes the moments when she does something a little more than expected – Santana's totally sharing the last of her peanut M&Ms with Becky right now – just that little bit more sweet.

* * *

_**Love is…when the wait seems endless**_.

Impatience is not something that would normally identify Santana Lopez.

Stubborn?

Sure.

After all, it took, what, seventeen years to finally admit that she had more than hormonal driven feelings for Brittany.

Impulsive?

Okay.

She did once pick a fight with a human-shaped elephant, no offense Lauren.

You could even call her caring, because when she was the only person Rachel could get in touch with after her (thirteenth) break-up with Finn, she didn't immediately hang the phone up on her ass though every bone in her body screamed at her to.

But, impatience doesn't really ever describe the girl who waited for Brittany to be single again before going after her in her own timid way, or the girl who stood by Quinn's side for years, waiting for that moment when Coach Sylvester would finally recognize her, or the girl who watched solo after solo go to everyone else before she finally got her chance to steal the spotlight.

Nope, Santana's not impatient at all.

But if Brittany's gorgeous ass doesn't round that damn corner soon she's going to _murder _someone.

"Can you stop glaring at everybody?" Quinn hisses at her from where she's standing right next to Sam. "You're getting married for crying out loud. To Brittany."

"Shut up Fabray," Santana says, fixing her face, trying to tamp down her nerves but they just ratchet back up again a second later. "She's still coming, right?"

Sam actually snickers a little but quickly shuts up when dark eyes almost kill him on the spot. "Calm down, Santana. I'm pretty sure Britt would have beat you up here if you hadn't flipped for who gets to march down the aisle," he tells her with a dopey grin.

She finally relaxes, the weight on her bared shoulders sloughing off and she finally allows herself a moment to breathe as the…_hours_ tick by.

But at long last the band starts up, playing the familiar wedding march tune, and everybody stands and Santana hates that she's so short, craning her neck over the crowd so hard that Sam finally takes pity on her and lifts her up a foot or so off the floor.

She squeaks at the move, garnering a few curious looks from the people in the first pews – Rachel, Finn, and Rory to name a few – but then she sees Brittany and her mortification at being held up like Simba in _The Lion King _ just melts away.

Brittany _is_ gorgeous.

And beautiful and magnificent and glowing and breathtaking and…just, everything.

And she is walking so so so so so slowly.

_But, hey_, Santana thinks, swaying a little on her heels when Sam finally lowers her back down, _what's a couple of more minutes when she's got forever left to go?_

* * *

_**Love is…making up before you think of breaking up.**_

They've had a fight.

One of the worst ones she can recall them having ever and she'd really like it a lot more if she could remember what the hell it was about it but the moment Brittany announced that she was going for "a drive" and would be back "whenever" Santana's anger just flew out of the window and she was over…whatever it is they're arguing about that instant.

But, Brittany left and now she's here holding onto both of their cell phones because Brittany was so mad she left hers and it's starting to rain and Santana's _so_ not mad anymore it's ridiculous.

She just wants Brittany back because…because she just does.

That's the only reason she'll ever need.

Deciding that a jog out in the rain can't hurt – _just a little water, never hurt anyone_ – she wrenches their front door open and crashes right into Brittany's arms, the blonde just a little damp, nose red and shivering.

"I'm-" she starts to say but Santana doesn't care anymore, not in the least when Brittany's here now and she's holding her and the next thing she knows she's got her mouth pressed against hers, warming her and kissing her until she can't breathe and then some more until it physically pains her to continue.

"It doesn't matter," Santana gasps at last, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter at all."

"But-"

"I love you," Santana interrupts again fiercely, her eyes staring deeply into Brittany's. "Nothing else matters."

* * *

_**Love is…telling her she looks sexy at sixty.**_

"Hot."

Santana turns away from the mirror, looking down at the flannel pajamas Sebastian Junior had gotten her for Christmas with a frown. "What?"

Brittany grins, setting her glasses down on the nightstand from where she's lying in their bed. "You look hot," she says, sitting the book she was reading, _How To Turn an Unfortunate Nickname into Motivation _by Samuel "Trouty Mouth" Evans, down as well.

"Well I don't know about _looking_ it," Santana says, moving to her side of the bed carefully, "But I certainly _feel_ it."

Brittany grins though nothing about the look she's giving Santana seems humorous at all. "You're sexy," she says and Santana almost scoffs at it.

"Are you serious right now?" she asks her, tugging at the collar of the plaid pajamas. "I'm wearing a burlap sack, and wool socks, and I'm not wearing a lick of makeup."

Brittany shrugs. "But you're you. And maybe it's just me," she adds, rolling over onto her side and reaching out for her wife, one long finger tracing the prominence of her breastbone. "Maybe I was born with some 'Santana is the sexiest thing alive' gene and you'll always be the sexiest woman I know but that still doesn't mean that what I say isn't true. You could be wearing a fat suit or, worse, one of Rachel's outfits, and I'd still find you sexy. And it'll be that way forever even when we're truly old and all the way gray. And I don't have any teeth and you have to walk with a cane."

Santana smiles, her eyes twinkling almost in the near darkness of their bedroom. "_You make me feel so young_," she croons playfully, her fingers tracing the age lines on Brittany's face before she kisses her gently.

"You _are _young," Brittany murmurs against her lips, slowly turning over until she's hovering just above Santana. She rains down kisses all over Santana's face, kissing each laugh line and wrinkle she can find and any skin in between. "You're young and sexy and above all else," she pauses here, wanting to see Santana's eyes which have unwittingly fallen shut. Brittany sighs when they flutter open again – wide and so completely trusting, "…you're loved. And I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget that," she concludes, wiggling her eyebrows before adding, "Starting tonight."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note: **21-30

* * *

_**Love is…thinking of someone else before you think of yourself.**_

High school's not too terribly different from middle high.

The upperclassmen are enormous sure, but she remembers being in first grade and thinking the fifth graders were like giants so it's no big deal now.

Plus, the teachers are still boring and there are still nerds and jocks and losers (by the way, she is more than proud to say that she belongs to _none_ of those groups, thank you very much) so she's not as blown away by the _transition_ as she thought she'd be.

But then – the single-most terrifying thing happens to her at lunch time.

You see, Santana gets that she's like almost an adult now and adults don't take bagged lunches to school because those are for babies and even though she maybe, sort of thought that new Harry Potter lunchbox at Target was cool. She knew better than to buy it. That would be stupid.

No, the cool kids in high school all got their food from the cafeteria – and while nameless pasta and limp, steamed veggies are probably a downgrade from whatever her mother would have prepared (_sigh_, empanadas), it's the smart thing to do.

Except, Santana doesn't have any money to _pay_ for the cafeteria food and she prays a silent thanks to whoever is looking over her in Heaven that she found out about paying for the food before she'd actually gotten in line because the humiliation that Berry girl must feel right now has her _own_ stomach turning in knots.

Still, now she doesn't have anything to eat and she can't bring herself to go over to Quinn Farbay's table – the girl and her friends (or, minions rather) all have trays and they're not even touching their food.

So, she sits at a lunch table, alone and staring forlornly at the other kids as they munch away happily.

**o-X-o**

Across the cafeteria, Brittany notices.

She watches the way Santana (she knows her name is Santana because they share the first class of the day together and she sits just behind her desk) shifts uncomfortably.

Brittany looks down at her sandwich and even though she's really hungry – and peanut butter and jelly is her absolute _fave_ – she nods once in determination, setting off across the cafeteria until she's slipping onto the bench beside Santana and spreading her food items out in front of her.

"Want some PB&J?" she asks shyly, holding out a half to the girl she barely knows and Santana looks around, wondering if this is some kind of setup – if the cool kids are testing her or something – but no one's looking and the blonde girl is still watching her expectantly and she's hungrier than a hippo so she just nods, taking the half of sandwich reverently, like it'll dissolve into thin air if she holds it too tightly.

"Thanks," Santana says, taking a tiny bite.

"You're welcome," Brittany smiles widely, giving Santana glimpses of her chewed up food and Santana doesn't even care because this girl is kind of awesome, and maybe a little special, and probably the best friend Santana'll ever have.

* * *

_**Love is…what can cause you to miss the**_ _**train**_.

It'd been forty-two Brittany-less days before last week and now that Santana's staring another long spell without her bubbly, sweet, and incredibly sexy girlfriend in the eye she doesn't think she'll be able to let her go.

"Take me with you," she mumbles into the sleeve of Brittany's sweatshirt – well, actually, funny story is it's Santana's but Brittany got her coasts mixed up and left all her jackets back home in Ohio.

"Oh, Honey," Brittany sighs, nuzzling further into Santana's hair, "I would if I could. But you've gotta stay here until you're super-famous and awesome…r."

"Then you should stay, too," Santana all but cries, burying her hands into the sweatshirt's pocket, "You should stay and we can survive off Top Ramen and Lucky Charms. I don't need anything else, Britt-Britt. I just want you."

Brittany pulls back to look at her, brushing Santana's hair back out of her face and pulling down the skin on her forehead until the frown lines there iron out. "I want you too," she says quietly, ignoring everything going on around them, the countless strangers off in their own worlds, the trains entering and leaving the station and dropping a kiss to Santana's waiting lips, "Always."

Santana's eyes slip closed and she nods, letting her forehead press against Brittany's…a little harder than necessary just so that she knows she's real. She doesn't want her to go yet. "Then stay," she says again, her voice breaking as her eyes open and find Brittany's and Brittany finally relinquishes, nodding gently.

There'll always be another train.

* * *

_**Love is…when she finally puts it in writing**_.

Brittany's been scribbling their names all over the place ever since Santana can remember.

Even before she knew the girl's last name, Brittany's notebook margins were always full of 'Santana & Brittany' or 'S & B' or 'Britt-Britt and San' and so forth and it's really surprising that it never creeped Santana out given the implications of it all.

Brittany basically was writing out 'I love you' for years and Santana'd just been letting it happen.

No wonder Brittany got so confused when they first talked about their feelings and Santana shot her down.

But that's all in the past and she's totally ready to proclaim to the world that her girl is _her girl_ and no one else's so that's why she's here, in this place, gripping Quinn's hand like it's going out of style.

"Just because I haven't said anything about it, doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt," Quinn states, her face still stoic. "Cut it out."

Santana finally releases it long enough to take a deep breath in.

The guy sitting two chairs down coughs up a lung just then, body heaving as his belly bounces and she's _so_ over this impulse it's not even funny.

"You know what else says 'I love you and only you'?" Santana asks, her voice much higher than usual because of her nerves and she hates that Quinn can tell, if that smirk she's wearing is any indication that is, "Dinner at a fancy restaurant and it's probably less expensive so…"

"Nope," Quinn says, grabbing her arm, most likely just in case Santana's thinking of making a break for it. "You called me up crying and I drove four hours for this so it's totally happening. I don't care if you have to use a microscope to see it, you're getting a tattoo just as sure as my name is Lucy Quinn Fabray."

"The fuck?" Santana gasps. "Lucy? Who the hell is Lucy?"

"Oh look. You're up."

**o-X-o**

Her arm is still stinging like a bitch – it'll feel better after a couple of hours her _ass_ – when Britt gets home, bundled up in two coats, a hat, and three scarves.

She looks like the cutest Eskimo.

"Hey Baby," she greets her warmly, helping her shed all the extra layers until Brittany's only wearing jeans and a t-shirt, her cold, red nose, pressed against Santana's as she accepts her 'hello' kiss.

"Hey," Brittany breathes, walking her fingers across Santana's shoulders as she wraps her up in a hug. "I thought you weren't gonna be in until after 5. I would've brought something home for dinner."

"My appointment didn't run as long as I thought it would," Santana shrugs, leading her girlfriend over to a chair and sitting her down on it and then moving to sit astride her thighs. "But…" she starts cutely, catching Brittany's hands before they can get too roam-y, "…I do have a surprise for you."

"Ooh," Brittany gasps, eyes widening, "Lemme guess. Animal, vegetable or mineral?"

Santana's nose scrunches up with a smile. "I don't think it's any of those Britt."

Brittany laughs, kissing Santana's nose. "Is it a tattoo?"

The gasp and stunned look on her face makes Brittany cackle hysterically and Santana hits her girlfriend on the arm, not amused. "Who told you?"

"Nobody," Brittany assures her through a smile, "But you're wearing a t-shirt and there's a bandage taped to your arm so I kinda figured."

Santana pouts out her lower lip, annoyed but Brittany just chuckles and kisses it, wrapping her arms around her waist. "Stop pouting and show me it. What'd you get?"

"You're the psychic. You tell me."

"Brittany's bitch?"

"You wish," Santana says, scoffing and Brittany just nods, done teasing.

"_Coooome_ _oooon_," she drawls out, past ready for the revelation and Santana just smirks, carefully pulling back the fresh bandage and brandishing her arm so that Brittany can read what's there.

It's nothing elaborate or even profound and it probably wouldn't hold any meaning for anyone other than them but when Brittany sees it, the tears that instantly spring to her eyes are all Santana needs to know that she chose wisely.

"I'm yours," she whispers, grabbing Brittany cheeks and pulling her in for a kiss, the _Proudly So_ now inked forever on her skin standing out prominently.

* * *

_**Love is…letting the 'backseat' driver think you're listening**_.

Santana – and she loves her, she really does – can _really_ get on her nerves from time to time.

And, it's not in the way that Mike gets on her nerves when he won't stop moving sometimes –which when it gets so bad that _she_ complains about it, you know it's a problem.

And of course Santana doesn't annoy her like Finn when he dances or talks or, you know, _breathes_ – still not _quite_ over that outing her girlfriend thing.

And it's not like Santana's _trying_ to get on her nerves. It's just that Santana worries so much about things where Brittany's concerned like Brittany doesn't have the sense to handle them on her own.

Brittany's not stupid and Santana knows that but she still thinks she has to remind Brittany of stuff all the time.

Like, "Take your cell phone out of your jeans before you wash them."

And "Don't forget Britt, the toaster timer counts minutes not how many PopTarts you're cooking."

She forgets things, sue her, but she's pretty sure that she won't just stand there helpless as her house burns down.

But what takes the cake, what drives her absolutely insane, is when Santana tries to drive for her.

"Brittany," Santana says, her head whipping around as they pass the interstate sign, "That was our exit."

Brittany sighs, gripping the wheel a little tighter, "Uh huh."

"Britt, I'm, like, 100% sure that was our exit."

"Santana," she grits out, shifting her shoulders, "I've got it."

"Okay but if we get lost…"

"San, we won't get lost," she tells, her annoyance spiking to unheard of levels but her voice steadily calm, "We're not gonna get lost because I know where we're going, I know what I'm _doing_ so can you please just sit back and enjoy the ride?"

She doesn't look over at her and a whole ten tense seconds tick by before Santana flicks on the radio, letting down her seat and closes her eyes, huffing indignantly.

"Are you mad at me now?" Brittany asks, laughing lightly and rolls her eyes a little when all she gets is a scoffing noise in return.

"Fine, don't talk to me. But when we finally get there, you're gonna be sorry."

Apparently, Santana doesn't think so because she stays quiet, turning the volume on the radio even louder and Brittany just finishes the drive in silence.

**o-X-o**

"Wake up, we're here."

She watches as Santana's eyes flutter open behind her sunglasses and her head pops up, surveying their surroundings. "Britt, this doesn't look like the lake house."

Brittany smiles. "Two choices," she says, circling around to the trunk and pulling out a blanket and bag cooler, "You can either stay here with me, drinking wine coolers and eating your favorite chicken salad on croissant sandwiches, or we could drive the five minutes over to Rachel's fathers' lake house and watch Finn attempt to swallow her face."

Santana blinks at her, watching as Brittany reveals the sweating bottles of near-booze.

"A."

* * *

_**Love is…making her take her personal alarm when she jogs at night. **_

She probably shouldn't worry so much.

Not so much because Brittany's really badass when she wants to be and she'll never forget how a 22 year old Brittany made Finn Hudson cry – _finally _– after he'd said that Santana had put on a little weight.

So what if it was that time of the month and Santana was _really_ sensitive, he didn't have to open up that gigantic black hole he calls a mouth.

So, if there's one thing that Santana knows without hesitation it's that Brittany S. Pierce is all kinds of fierce but…the world's a scary place and so is New York at nighttime and Brittany's late night jogging habits are _totally _getting old.

"Take this with you."

"San, I've got my cell," Brittany says, lacing up her sneakers.

"Just in case, okay?" Santana says, holding the small metallic device out to her again. "To make me feel better."

"Fine," Brittany sighs, taking the item, "But if it goes off and scares the crap outta me again…"

"It won't. I got the short fixed," Santana assures her, biting her lower lip anxiously but breathes easier when Brittany tucks the alarm into her the pocket of her shorts.

"I'll be back soon," her girlfriend murmurs, dropping a light kiss to her lips before darting out of the front door, down the steps and into the night…

…and Santana waits two minutes before hopping into their car, turning out the headlights and following after her.

* * *

_**Love is… dreaming of starting a family. **_

Santana awakes with a start, her hands quickly flying to her stomach and her heart drops…

_It was only a dream._

"What's wrong?" she hears Brittany murmur, stirring to wakefulness beside her and Santana blinks, her eyes starting to burn with the sting of tears – happy though they are.

"Nothing," she breathes, turning to Brittany and finding her eyes in the early morning light. "Nothing's wrong. I just…I had a dream."

"Was it like the one I had where Kurt was trying to talk me into gay sex because that was kind of a nightmare?"

Santana shakes her head, "I was…we were…" she flushes inexplicably, suddenly bashful, "…we were pregnant, Britt."

Brittany's eyes widen, "With a baby?"

Santana laughs at her reaction, "I really hope so."

"That's so cool," Brittany says, sitting up and bouncing a little excitedly. "I try to make myself dream stuff like that all the time but I just end up having dreams about eating weird _Fear Factor_-ish items. So, who was pregnant?"

Santana looks down at the bedspread, unconsciously holding her stomach again. "I was."

Brittany's smile warms and her hands cover Santana's, imagining. "I bet you'd look really hot pregnant."

* * *

_**Love is…finding her laugh infectious**__. _

They're sharing the couch.

And she's pretty comfortable if she has to say so herself; Santana, earphones in, has her feet tucked under her arm and Brittany's own are buried in the cushions of the sofa, both of them engrossed in their work.

Well _she's_ engrossed in her work; she's pretty sure Santana's goofing off watching YouTube videos on her iPad.

Silly Santana.

She's working on an early draft for her _Urban and Regional Planning_ class, quietly loving the way Santana's toes are curling against her bicep, but then her girlfriend laughs…loudly.

She looks up, startled, and Santana grimaces before breaking out in sheepish smile. "Sorry," she says sweetly, wiggling her toes in apology, "I'll try to be quiet."

Another minute or so goes by, and she slips back into her work, her tongue between her teeth as she adds a few more hash marks to the sketch but Santana snorts this time, covering her mouth with her hand and eyes sparkling with laughter when she looks at her again.

_Sorry_, Santana mouths, mimicking turning a lock to her lips and dropping the key down her shirt.

Brittany shakes her head with a smile, rolling her eyes playfully before shifting her shoulders, turning back to her work.

It takes notably longer this time, almost a full two minutes, but gradually she becomes aware of the subtle shaking of the couch and looks up slowly, her eyes finding a silently laughing Santana, face nearly red with the effort of keeping her giggles contained.

Finally, Brittany's laughter spills out, her hand wrapping around Santana's calf just in time for Santana to completely lose it, barking out a laugh so loud and genuine that Brittany has no choice but to join, her stomach rolling as she shares in Santana's joy.

* * *

_**Love is…that tug on your heartstrings on her first day at school.**_

"Wake up! Wake up! First day of school!"

Their bed bounces crazily and Brittany blinks open her eyes owlishly, her bare shoulder brushing against Santana's as she shifts slightly.

"San," she half-whispers/half-yawns, "I think I'm having that Nemo dream again."

"That's no dream," Santana mutters, her face still pressed into her pillow. "That's your daughter."

"_Our_ daughter," Brittany corrects sleepily, the lull of slumber so tempting, especially with the light, rhythmic bouncing of their bedsprings.

"No," Maya whines, stopping her jumping and crawling up between them, squeezing into the tight space and pressing her nose to Brittany's. "Don't go back ta' sleep. We's gonna be late."

Brittany smiles, squinting an eye open, "What time does the blinky clock say?"

"Five, zero, seven."

"Oh Maya, no," Brittany tsks, sucking her teeth. "We've still got a long time 'til school starts. Go on back to bed," she tells her gently.

"Can I stay here with you?" Maya asks, already burrowing under the covers and Santana moves around then, holding open an arm for Maya to snuggle under. "Always Princess. Always."

* * *

_**Love is…printing out her romantic emails to read later.**_

It's her second semester freshman year when Brittany sends her the first one.

And it's kind of ridiculous considering how much they talk and skype and text and what not but it's also pretty cute as well.

_My Santana,_

_Happy Monday! It's me Brittany in case you didn't know and even though we just got off the phone and I just sent you a 'Please don't kill anyone even though it's Monday and you're so hot you'll get away with it' text, I also wanted to send you an email just to let you know that I'm thinking about you and I love you and I can't wait until next Friday when you come home so I can do all kinds of wickedly awesome things to your body. Nothing weird though because I know how much the blindfold freaked you out that last time._

_Anyway, I hope this made you smile a little bit and remember, fish are friends not food._

_Love you baby!_

_X~OX~O_

_Britt-Britt_

_P.S. The squiggly line after the x's means tongue action_

Santana smiles before hitting control + P.

**o-X-o**

"I got your email," she tells Brittany later when they're both in bed, staring into computer screens like their lives depend on it.

"Oh yeah?" Brittany grins, snuggling further into her pillow. "What'd I say? Do you remember?"

Santana feels her cheeks warm and knows she's blushing, knows Brittany can see but doesn't even try to cover it up. "Every word."

"Hmmm..." Brittany drawls playfully, pursing her lips out in thought and Santana wishes more than anything she could kiss her.

"Maybe I'll just have to send you another one. Since it was that memorable and everything," she teases, her eyes sparkling and Santana smiles wide, with her lips, her eyes.

"I'd like that," she whispers, reaching out a lone finger to trace the computer screen the same way she'd trace Brittany's face. "I'd like that a lot."

**o-X-o**

_Hi honey!_

_Guess what? I heard Songbird on Pandora today and - not gonna lie - I cried. They were happy tears though so no worries. I kind of feel like that song is the soundtrack to our lives you know? Like, it'll be playing in my head when we spend our first night in our own bed in our own home. And when I ask you to marry me. And when we bring our baby girl or boy home for the first time. I bet the songbirds'll be going nuts then, lol. Anyway, I just felt like sharing that with you 'cause, you know, you my boo. I'mma skype you tonight and I'm feeling a little randy so hook me up with some eye candy, a'ight. LOL. _

_Love you bunches,_

_Britt-Britt_

Santana has to print this one out too.

**o-X-o**

After a semester, Santana has a whole binder full of biology notes, one of English composition notes, and one full of Brittany's notes.

Emails her girlfriend has sent her ranging from the completely absurd (_Lord Tubbington ate my kitkat bar...again. Which I don't get because he once told me he considered that cannibalism or something_) to the unbearably cute (_guess who loves you more than anybody could love anything else? Me. You better had got that right, San_)to the super wanky (_Spread 'em...now_) are all neatly tucked away into her notebook, haggard and worn at the edges from constant use.

She's pulled it out more than a few times.

Whenever she felt particularly homesick, or bored, or, and these were really rare times, on the occasion that old doubting voice of the past reared its ugly head and tried to convince her that Brittany was moving on and forgetting about her.

And in times like these, when she's heading back on the train to Lima for winter break, almost vibrating with the excitement of seeing her girlfriend again...

* * *

_**Love is…a steadying hand.**_

Santana's strong.

Years of Cheerios practice practices under Sue Sylvester's intense program ensure this.

Sure, she looks tiny and all but with a little effort and the proper motivation – say, a smirking Puck bragging about his past sexcapades with Brittany or Finn doing…anything – Santana can hulk it out with the best of them.

…But Brittany's stronger.

Which is why it's often Brittany on the more strenuous side of their physical activities.

Be it a celebratory _we-won-cheer-nationals-and- now-I'm-gonna-squeal-and-mount-you_ hug or a _we-won-cheer-nationals-and- now-I'm-gonna-squeal-and-mount-you…while naked_ hug, she's always the one holding Santana up,, strong arms wrapping around hips and keeping Santana safe and secure against her.

Always

Except for the one time when it wasn't.

She knows Santana is beyond ecstatic.

Her smile's so big and her giggles are so childlike and adorably cute that Brittany almost can't believe she's real or at least not the same Santana she's accustomed to seeing at _school_.

Nope.

Someone must have smacked that Santana upside the head and locked her in the broom closet because, as the confetti steadily dances around them and their friends whoop and yell and holler in the jubilation, all she can see is the Santana that only comes out when they're at Brittany's house, curled up under quilts and together on the couch and watching 90s cartoons.

This is the Santana that almost snorts out a glassful of milk when Brittany makes her monkey face at her over dinner.

The loveable, dorky, cute and incredibly happy version on Santana is on full display in the halls of McKinley right now and Brittany catches her by the arm, her right hand gripping Santana's forearm and her girlfriend laughs, jovial and liberated, letting her fingers tangle with Brittany's and pulling her into an impromptu hug.

She pulls back and just when Brittany thinks she's about to turn her loose again, Santana's tipping her back surely and securely, her left hand finding purchase along the base of Brittany's spine, fingers splayed wide in their support.

The shock on Brittany's face is evident and Santana giggles cutely (_I got you baby_) before leaning back in slowly, so closely that Brittany can count almost every lash on her slowly fluttering eyelids.

"Hey," Santana murmurs and Brittany smiles softly as the noise around them fades into nothingness; she feels breathless, weightless, hovering above the ground in Santana's arms.

"Hi," Brittany breathes back and then they're kissing, and Brittany's now sure the steadying hand Santana has on her back is the only reason she's not lying on the floor.

Santana's strong.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note: **31-40

* * *

_**Love is…a picture of her as your screensaver.**_

Sam stumbles into the tiny apartment – that top lock still gives him the hardest time.

It's late.

It's late and Santana'll dead him where he stands if he wakes her up, so he's careful as ever as he tiptoes across the tiny living room but instead of heading to his room, his feet carry him in the opposite direction – to where Santana is stretched along their second-hand sofa, snoring quietly as her laptop gives the small space an eerie pinkish glow as the screensaver flashes along.

She's hopeless, Sam decides, cautiously pushing lid of the computer closed.

He's not sure how exactly he ended up here – well, he _does_.

[Leaving Lima behind to chase the love of his life in Los Angeles didn't _quite _work out how he wanted because Mercedes wasn't kidding when she'd said they'd changed as people.

Loosely translated: Mercedes was no longer a person considered to be his girlfriend.

So, after working for Puckerman for a couple of months and a loan he swears he's going to pay back (even if Noah laughed him off when he'd pledged to), he found himself standing on the crumbling door stoop of one Miss Santana Lopez with only one bag and a crooked smile.

He was grateful as ever when Santana'd merely rolled her eyes and stepped aside to let him in.]

So, he knows how he ended up being her roommate.

He doesn't know, however, when he became the number one member in the Brittany and Santana fan club.

They're just so cute, and yeah, it kinda sucks that Brittany's only staying in the dorms for a year and that after school is over he's going to have to find himself somewhere else to stay, but, for now, he just admires their relationship from a distance.

Like, how Santana waits up especially late on nights when Brittany's working just so she's the last thing she sees before she goes to sleep.

….Or how Brittany gave Santana her jacket that night they left the movie theatres and it started fucking monsooning out of nowhere.

…Or how they both refuse to let one another pay for anything when they go out; playfully fighting for the receipt until he just snatches it from them himself.

They're just…they remind him of what's right with the world.

She's hopeless, he thinks again, placing the laptop on the coffee table, remembering the cheesy, grinning version of Brittany that had moments before been dancing across Santana's computer screen but he'll be damned if he doesn't wish he was hopeless too.

* * *

_**Love is…letting her sit in front of the air conditioner.**_

It's their first apartment.

And, in spite of what you may see in the movies, getting and maintaining an apartment in New York on two part-time salaries is not easy and it's about as far away from glamorous as you could imagine.

They manage because, well, Brittany has Santana and Santana has Brittany.

But make no mistake, if she and Artie were still together and he'd suggested living in this small, cramped, and without a central heating and cooling unit apartment, Brittany would have dropped his ass faster than it takes Finn to reach his magical Mr. Happy peak.

Poor Rachel.

In the winter it was fine; nothing's better than cuddling and sharing body heat under a mass of blankets in order to stay warm…as well as other, totally non-sexual (she's such a liar) reasons.

But now that it's the summer time, their one bedroom, one bathroom, and one everything-else room apartment might as well be a greenhouse.

And you'd think Brittany would be okay with this – and normally she would be because, hey, she's easy-going like that.

But since she can't, like, walk around the apartment naked – well she _can_ but Santana swears their two boy neighbors across the way are perverts and would stare at her through the blinds and Santana doesn't particularly want her girlfriend's lady bits on display so she doesn't.

Even though, she's pretty sure those guys are like, "Bert and Ernie" gay.

Santana's gaydar needs adjusting.

Anyway, since she can't be naked, the heat's really getting to her and aside from bathing in ice cold water (and, you know, peeling off a layer of her _skin_) she doesn't really know what else to do.

But, thankfully, she has a super-sexy, super-attentive, and kind of sneaky girlfriend that'll pull a couple double-shifts (at the world's crappiest bar) in order to get them a tiny, yet serviceable A/C.

Brittany sighs, sitting in front of the thing and pretty much blocking off the rest of the apartment. If she were Santana she'd be pissed, but Santana doesn't seem to mind, her body curled up in one of the bean bag chairs across the way.

Brittany's eyes find her, her girlfriend's lower lip pulled between her lips as she concentrates on her laptop screen. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?" Brittany asks, breaking their quiet.

"Once or twice in the last hour or so," Santana states with a smirk, not looking up.

Brittany smiles lazily, too comfortable to move. "Just wait 'til the sun goes down. I'm gonna show you too."

"Counting on it."

* * *

_**Love is…that moment to treasure.**_

She's not sure when they fell asleep, but the eerie music that accompanies the DVD's main menu stirs her awake.

They've been trying (and failing) to make it through season six True Blood for weeks. Last night was no exception apparently, Santana thinks, finding herself wrapped up in Brittany and sprawled over the sofa.

Someone – probably Brittany's roommate, bless her red-headed heart – has haphazardly strewn a blanket over them; uselessly really because Brittany always kicks them away, burying into Santana's body warmth instead.

Tonight is no different, she realizes with a smile as Brittany's nose is nestled somewhere in the skin of her neck, the soft and steady breaths tickling her as Brittany exhales. Brittany's arms are wrapped tightly around her, her hands fisting at the fabric of her 'I love New York' hoodie.

And Santana takes a moment to soak it in, the comfort of waking and lying in the arms of the one she loves. And the one who loves her back just as fiercely, the voracity of Brittany's grip a subtle indicator of that fact.

Santana knows she loves her dearly and Brittany won't hesitate in showing it, but there's something about Brittany now - clearly in the arms of Morpheus - and still so...attached to Santana, that strikes her at her very core. From the long leg (draped casually over her hip, Brittany's lone sock hanging on for dear life) to the subtle curve of Brittany's breasts (tattooing themselves against Santana's shoulder blades through layers of fabric), Brittany wants there to be no mistake that Santana is hers and hers alone. And this makes Santana beyond happy.

She's never had time to bask in it before because Brittany's an early riser and mostly they have to rush off to someplace the moment they wake, but tonight...she can just...just...

Santana lies there for a little while longer.

**o-X-o**

The first hint of sunlight peeks through before she's fully astute enough to recognize it but once she does, she carefully extricates herself from Brittany, careful not to wake her girlfriend.

It's a chore when she finally manages it, looking down at Brittany's more than tempting sleeping body, her quiet snore like a siren's song, but Santana fights the temptation for just a few seconds, padding over to the window and raising the blinds so that the pane is completely revealed, allowing a breathtaking view of the sky as it greets a new day.

Pleased with her work, she quietly shuffles back toward Brittany, sliding back into the place she's just left, this time facing Brittany, grinning when Brittany grunts a little before settling herself around her once again.

"Britt," she tries, keeping her voice low.

"Hmm…" Brittany answers on a sigh, still very much asleep.

Her little murmur though has set her lips against Santana's a little firmer and Santana kisses them, never having been one to waste such a golden opportunity.

"Baby," Santana whispers, when she pulls away, "Wake up a little bit. I want you to see something."

Brittany pouts, eyes still tightly closed but one eyebrow darts up in intrigue. "Are you naked?"

Santana just manages to hold in her laugh. "Not yet."

"No sale."

"Britt," Santana insists, her left hand tracing the delicate features on the other girl's face. "Please?" she requests again, peppering kisses against Brittany's slowly growing smile until she draws a reluctant sigh.

"I'm so easy," Brittany mumbles through her smile, finally blinking open her eyes at long last and finding Santana's. "Okay girlfriend, love of my life, ruiner of my perfect sleep," Brittany starts, shifting her shoulders so that she's a little more comfortable, "What did you want to show me?"

"Look," Santana says, turning around again and sitting up, pulling Brittany along for the ride so that's she's virtually sitting in her girlfriend's lap. Brittany's arms circle around her waist, this time sliding beneath the hoodie and Santana allows a shy smile to stretch across her face as Brittany's chin digs lightly into her shoulder.

A moment passes.

"San?"

"Yes?"

"What are we looking at?"

"Britt," Santana laughs, moving her hands to join her girlfriend's, "We're looking at the sunset, you goober."

"_Oh_," Brittany breathes, tilting her head to hide a yawn against Santana's sweatshirt and they grow quiet again. "It's pretty," Brittany suddenly declares, and her voice has that quiet wonderment undertone to it that Santana's grown rather fond of.

"It's beautiful," Santana amends, tilting her head so that it leans against Brittany's, "The second most beautiful thing I've ever seen. You shouldn't have to ask what the first is."

"Aww," Brittany coos gently, making a quiet adoring noise and squeezing her tighter, "You're my favorite, Santana. My favorite anything."

Santana smiles, turning her head into the kiss she knows Brittany has waiting for her. "I love you too, Britt."

* * *

_**Love is…when your relationship starts to sizzle.**_

Brittany's kind of excited.

It's like, she's known Santana's been working on this big secret project – well, not really a secret because everybody knows she's working on her first solo recording album; it's public knowledge – but she won't tell Brittany anything about it.

Even when she was penning the first couple of songs, Brittany would wander over to the office chair, just really checking in and maybe, possibly, initiating some sexy times – studious Santana _really _gets Brittany going – but before she'd manage to get a word out edge-wise, Santana would slam the laptop lid shut, all anxious eyes and flushed cheeks and pouty lips and Brittany then kind of forgot that she was trying to be sleuth-y.

Oh well.

The point is Brittany's been entirely in the dark about what Santana's been writing/singing/producing so when her girlfriend – soon to be fiancée, Brittany _so_ knows she and Sam didn't go to the jewelry store for _him_ – suggested she come down to the studio for a semi-private, super-exclusive listening party, Brittany jumped at the opportunity.

So, now she's here and Santana was not kidding about the private part because, counting herself, there are only three people here. The lighting is low, intimate-like and if Brittany isn't mistaken, as she watches Santana saunter slowly over to her – _those_ are bedroom eyes.

"Calm down, Britt-Britt," Santana says with a small, nervous laugh.

Brittany spins around in the cushy lounge chair and shrugs. "Can't help it. I'm excited."

Santana rolls her eyes, plopping gracefully into Brittany's lap and fiddling with a button on the switchboard, "You've heard me sing before."

"Sure. In glee and in the shower sometimes, but this is different," Brittany says, turning her arms into Santana's own personal seatbelt. "This is your music that you wrote and sung by you. It's like awesomeness to the third degree."

Reggie, Santana's producer, chuckles deeply as he readies the tracks. "You ready, Santana?"

Brittany looks on amorously as Santana nods quickly, pulling her lower lip between her teeth as she settles more comfortably back onto Brittany. She leans her head on Brittany's shoulder and Brittany presses a brief kiss to her temple whilst she awaits the first notes.

She knows enough about the album to not be surprised by the first couple of tracks – Rachel had mentioned once in passing that the album was going to play out a lot like a relationship, a soundtrack accompanying that first fleeting glance up to the comfort of being with someone you love – so the dance party tracks that it is to open up with are expected, though she is surprised at how amazing Santana's voice sounds even over the mechanical, techno-ness most dance songs have devolved into.

She can barely keep still in her chair, hips twitching to the rhythm beneath Santana and her arms moving frantically about in complement. She smiles adorably when Santana colors and buries her face in her hands, embarrassed at Brittany's enthusiasm but reveling in it nonetheless.

Track four's opening notes waft out after a particularly bass-heavy, totally for the clubs, track three and Brittany's hand finds her heart when she hears Santana's husky, breathy voice belt out in a capella for the entire first verse.

"This one's tentatively titled, 'All I've Ever Wanted'," Santana tells her quietly, turning in her arms so that she can actually see Brittany's reaction as Brittany listens to a story that can't be about anyone else but them.

"I'm gonna go grab a refill," Reggie says with a smirk and a nearly full bottle and Santana and Brittany smile gratefully for him giving them privacy.

The song finishes playing and Santana reaches over to hit pause on the playback, her eyes seeking out Brittany's. "So that one was-"

"About us I know," Brittany interrupts, smiling warmly. "Is that the one you wrote in high school?"

Santana grins, "How did you know?"

"Um…_blue eyes find mine across a crowded hallway_. C'mon, Santana. My elevator might not always reach the top floor but even I can figure that one out," Brittany teases and Santana responds in kind, playfully rolling her eyes.

"I've wanted you for a very long time," Santana nods, turning away again and hopping off of Brittany's lap, just out of arm's reach. "God knows why. What ever did I see in you?"

"Okay, San," Brittany chuckles, reaching for her, "Get back here."

Santana gamely walks over to the studio room door, securing the lock quietly and swiftly before rounding to face Brittany and Brittany swallows, the air in the room suddenly turning warmer. "In due time," Santana murmurs, raising an eyebrow with a devilish smirk, and Brittany was _so _right.

Those _are_ bedroom eyes.

"Let's just get through one last song…"

**o-X-o**

Brittany bites her lip, watching Santana's ass grind down into the juncture between her thighs for what must be the hundredth time and she grips her chair just a little bit tighter, her knuckles already stark white.

The display on the soundboard says the song's only been playing for a minute in a half but she doesn't believe it because there's no way she's this close to losing it in less than two minutes.

Then again, her shirtless girlfriend _is_ giving her the lap dance of the century, while track number five plays on…oh, and did she mention that track number five is _pure sex_?

The fact that Brittany's lasted this long is _highly commendable._

Track Santana grunts just as real Santana rolls her hips just right and Brittany's gone – forget stupid lap dance rules, Brittany's hands need to be on (and in) Santana and soon.

She frowns when all Santana does is slap her hands away with a rusty chuckle, "Nope."

"This," she grits out, her breath hitching when Santana turns her way again, leaning down so that Brittany suddenly has a face full of her, um, assets.

"…is so not fair," Brittany finally finishes when Santana's body bows back up, her entire frame fluid in its motion.

Santana smirks and a flicker of genuine amusement flashes across her face amidst the arousal, then, "All's fair when I'm on top, baby," she mouths along to the track and Brittany's mouth falls open as Santana laughs, track Santana giggling along as well and well, Brittany's had it.

She picks her up, ignoring Santana's playful protests and lays her down as gently as she can across the hard soundboard. Santana's butt turns up the bass, the vibration literally shaking the glass of the sound booth but neither of them cares – or at least Brittany doesn't, more preoccupied with the sweeping motions of Santana's tongue against hers and the haste with which her clothes need to be off.

"How much time until this song is over?" Brittany asks, voice deep and breathless as she slips her hand beneath the barrier of tight denim and silky fabric.

"About a minute," Santana manages through a moan, her hips thrusting upwards when Brittany finally touches her.

Brittany nods, her forehead pressing against Santana's and she kisses her deeply when she slips her fingers inside that familiar warmth, forgoing her usual slow, gentle pace for something a little more frantic, her thrusts matching the thump of the bass line. "I'll put it on repeat," Brittany murmurs, feeling hot breaths against her skin every time Santana gasps in pleasure, "You'll be done by then."

Santana laughs breathlessly, her hands clenching and unclenching against Brittany's shoulders. "Someone's feeling cocky."

"Hey, it's only bragging if you can't back it up," Brittany fires back, curling her fingers for emphasis and smiling when she feels Santana buck against her.

"And I've got a little over…four minutes to back it up."

* * *

_**Love is…when it's nice being near her.**_

She's home for the summer and Brittany's so glad.

It's weird because she can clearly remember her life before Santana so she knows it existed, but, when Santana flew off to school and left Brittany by her lonesome in Lima, it's like a part of Brittany went right with her.

And it didn't help at all that every little thing reminded her of Santana.

She'd brush her teeth in the morning with ease and feel the phantom bump of Santana's elbow against hers because even though they'd known each other for years, they'd still never figured out to switch sides when they brush (or maybe that's because they just wanted to touch one another).

Or she'd hold the door open extra long when she'd go into the Lima Bean, waiting for Santana to duck under like usual only she never does; except, Brittany kind of learned her lesson there because this pimply kid totally grinned at her when she accidentally held it open for him.

It's… she just missed having her girl close, near, and phone calls and text messages and Skype convos are poor substitutes for pouty lips and coffee-brown eyes and silky-soft hair.

Silky-soft hair she's currently running her fingers through unhurriedly, luxuriating in the feel of it, the closeness of Santana's body to hers as her girlfriend lies draped on top of her.

The television is on but muted, and, though they have a pool party to attend at Tina's, Santana shows no signs of wanting to move and that's just fine by Brittany.

Santana shifts ever so slightly, her ear pressed against Brittany's breastbone and Brittany smiles knowingly.

She loves listening to Santana's heartbeat too.

* * *

_**Love is…a safe pair of hands.**_

Santana's got a new hobby: gardening.

And normally Brittany'd be all for getting down and dirty but, not in the literal sense, so when Santana slips on her sun hat, work gloves and goes reaching for the pruning shears, Brittany disappears, rambling about the laundry, or the floors, or the fish tank.

Just anything that doesn't involve the outdoors.

Until one day, while she's dusting their incredibly clean and virtually spotless, fireplace mantle, her mind already floating away to their imagined future together (her favorite pastime), Santana comes back in from the yard, shaking her hand and cursing up a storm.

"What's wrong?" Brittany asks, concern instantly bursting her bubble as she quickly joins Santana in the kitchen.

Santana winces, snatching off a dirtied glove and dropping it into the sink as she turns on the cold water, meticulously avoiding looking into it. "Cut," she grunts out, grimacing.

Brittany sucks her teeth, pouting as she ambles over. "Let me see," she says, holding wrapping her fingers around Santana's wrist, tugging gently.

There's a cut on Santana's index finger, the skin irritated and puckered just slightly, and when Brittany gives it an experimental little squeeze and a tiny bit of blood spurts out, Santana winces and pales.

"C'mon," Brittany says gently, leading her to their bathroom, scrambling around in their vanity cupboards until she finds what she's looking for.

Brittany plops down on the side of the tub, patting her lap gently in invitation and Santana smiles before shuffling over, easing herself down gently.

Carefully, Brittany dampens the cotton ball she'd pulled from the first aid kit with peroxide. She's even more careful when she applies the solution to Santana's wound, cooing gently when Santana hisses again.

"Hurts," Santana whimpers and it takes everything she has not to roll her eyes, but Brittany manages, dabbing the wound once more before reaching for the band-aid she'd left laying on the vanity top.

She makes quick work of applying a dab a Neosporin to the sterile fastener, wrapping it tenderly around Santana's finger and kissing it when she's done, smiling brightly at her handiwork.

"All better," she assures her girl, bright cheerful eyes meeting Santana's.

Santana smiles, embarrassed but grateful. "Thank you, Britt-Britt," she says quietly, her voice as whisper soft as the kiss she places on Brittany's cheek. "You're going to make the best mom," she adds on just as quietly, hopping up and dashing out of the bathroom before Brittany can reply.

* * *

_**Love is…a chocolate-y mess.**_

Santana smiles and secret little smile as another string of curse words stream in from their kitchenette.

She's still got about forty pages to read and a couple of worksheets to finish and she'd be totally done, but every time she hears a crash, or a curse, or the scrape of plastic on plastic, she has to fight this internal battle with herself to stay put.

Normally, she'd never leave Brittany to her own devices in the kitchen, when it involves the oven, or cutting things, or electric things, or anything related to cooking in general, but she can't help this time because it's against the rules.

Actually, there appears to be a lot of things against the rules on this particular Saturday afternoon.

Watching Brittany cook?

Against the rules.

Asking if Brittany needs help?

Against the rules.

Running into the kitchen headlong and fearless even if she smells something that smells almost exactly like burning rubber?

Against.

The.

Rules.

So, Santana's relegated to staring at her textbooks in a half-hearted attempt to retain the necessary information that'll get her past her next marketing exam – after all, when she becomes super famous she's going to need all of the tricks of the trade to stay on top and not crash and burn out like the late, great Amy Winehouse – even though all she really wants is to find Brittany and kiss her senseless until whatever Brittany's prepared is burnt to a crisp and she'll have to chase away Brittany's disappointed pout with more kisses.

She's pretty selfish like that.

"Santana?!"

"Yeah Britt?" Santana answers, already closing her book and sliding forward on their couch in case she has to put Brittany's pinky finger on ice or something.

"When the cooking instructions say four-hundred degrees is that Fahrenheit degrees or Celsius?!"

"I'm pretty sure it's Fahrenheit, Britt," she answers hesitantly, actually pondering the question.

It's quiet, then, "…oh."

"What's wrong Britt-Britt?" Santana asks, almost standing now. "Do you need me to-"

"No," Brittany shouts, ducking into the living room to verify Santana's still in place. "You stay right there," she says slowly, a determined look in her eyes.

"Okay," Santana agrees, falling back onto the sofa cushions, "But if I hear one more crash-"

"You won't," Brittany assures her, not leaving until Santana's picked her textbook back up.

It's not too much longer after that that she finally hears Brittany shout "Dirt Devil!" – an inside joke from ages ago – just as the oven timer sounds and a warm, sweet scent fills their small apartment.

"You can come in now!" Brittany calls a moment later and again Santana throws her textbook aside and dashes into the kitchen, her mouth falling open at the sight before her.

Brittany's standing there, beaming brighter than the sun, and holding a platter full of the most delicious-looking brownies Santana's ever seen.

But that's not what's got her attention.

"There's chocolate…" she starts to say, a thunderstruck expression painted over her face, "…everywhere."

Brittany's looking around like she's just noticing this as well, but, no, Santana thinks, there's no way Brittany didn't catch this.

There's chocolate goo on almost every horizontal surface in their kitchen – the counter, the sink, the table, the window ledge.

Every appliance they own – which, not a lot anyway but still – has brownie batter on the handle, including the toaster.

(_What even?_)

There's even chocolate on the ceiling fan which Santana's pretty certain you have to _try_ to do.

She can't believe it.

Finally Brittany looks at her again, chewing nervously on her lower lip. "Oops," she murmurs sheepishly and she looks _so_ cute that Santana almost manages to look past the hoard of dirty bowls and pans in the sink.

Almost.

"Brittany," Santana sighs, shaking her head but her girlfriend interrupts her, taking a step forward.

"Okay, I know I made a big mess," she says, setting down the platter of brownies and grabbing one of the top with a hand almost caked in batter, "And I'm sorry," Brittany continues, moving ever closer. "But, I wanted to do something special for you, by myself, because today's a really important day."

Now Santana's brow crinkles in confusion.

She didn't like, forget an anniversary or anything. "It is?" she asks cautiously and Brittany smiles, now standing right in front of Santana.

She nods and her bangs tickle Santana's forehead. "Sure is," she assures Santana with a goofy smile. "It's 'Do something nice for your girlfriend' day."

Santana smiles, even chuckling a little. "Your cute is not gonna save your ass this time, Britt."

"But I made you brownies," Brittany pouts. "Because you've been working so hard in school and stuff and just being an awesome roomie and girlfriend. And they're really good brownies," she adds, taking a bite of the one she has and chewing thoughtfully before holding it out to Santana, "Try."

Santana smirks before pushing her hand aside and then pulling Brittany in for a kiss, tasting the chocolate on her lips and tongue.

"Mmm," Santana says, pulling away pleased with herself at the dazed look in Brittany's eyes. "Those are some pretty good brownies."

Brittany grins. "So…you'll help me clean up."

Santana laughs, "Not on your-"

Brittany pulls her in again, this time kissing Santana so deeply that it rocks her on her heels a little, her back pressing uncomfortably against the counter.

Brittany pulls away, a twinkle in her eye, watching as her girlfriend comes down off the cloud she'd just figuratively swept her onto and waiting for the inevitable.

"…where's the kitchen cleaner?"

* * *

_**Love is…driving her golf cart so you can spend time with her.**_

Santana's a lesbian.

But she's not a cliché.

And she just wants to put that out there for people because they don't seem to get it.

I mean, whenever someone finds out that she likes women they instantly start thinking that she doesn't like sex with guys – which she doesn't – but it's not like the only reason she's into chicks.

Sex is a huge part of the deal – because, let's be real here: orgasms, plural – but there's more to it than that.

Girls are just…_so _much better for everything, in her opinion at least and when it comes to her life her opinion is the only opinion that really matters so…

But getting back to the not being cliché thing; she's not.

She doesn't like Lilith Fair (she's still kind of confused about that, actually. Is it a person or…?) or flannel (it itches) or sushi (what even? Raw fish? Ew).

But...

She does like golf.

…

Stop laughing.

…

Fuck you.

**o-X-o**

Brittany?

Brittany doesn't really care for the golf.

It's not that she finds it boring (well, in reality, she finds it super-boring but the last time she said that Santana got all porcupine prickly and Brittany would prefer to not have a repeat of that incident) it's just so…quiet.

And you have to stay quiet.

So, jamming out to her iPod?

Not allowed.

Blowing Bazooka Joe bubble gum bubbles?

Not allowed.

Staring listlessly into the distance like the mind-numbing, golf-groupie, zombie you've become?

Allowed.

Completely allowed.

She would just stay at home and, uh, watch the water run – because it seems more fun at this point – but she doesn't because…

...she's in love.

And being in love means watching the woman she loves play the most uninteresting sport _ever_ because, even though she don't really get Santana's interest in golf, and even though she don't get how it's scored, and even though she, the world's most rhythmically coordinated person, turns into Finn on ice skates when trying to hit that little round white ball, watching Santana do something she loves is infinitely more interesting than anything Brittany can find to do on her own.

So, she'll keep coming out to the course and driving her lady around the course on this little cart that she can't drive more than ten miles per hour because in the end, even when bored, spending time with Santana is the best way to waste time.

* * *

_**Love is…picking the right star to make your dreams comes true.**_

Lying under the stars at night, the possibilities seem endless and they are but there's one constant and that's Brittany and Santana.

**o-X-o**

"You gotta pick the right one, Santana. If you pick the right one then it'll definitely come true."

"Who told you that?"

"Abeuelo."

"Well, how do I know which one is the right one? Does it shine the brightest?"

Santana shakes her head, her hair brushing against Brittany's. "Uh uh, you just gotta feel it. Like, in your tummy. And then, you'll know."

Brittany doesn't really feel anything though, and as she stares at the countless number of stars glinting in the night sky, she feels rather hopeless about this whole wishing upon a star thing. "I can't do it, Santana. It's too hard."

"Britt-Britt," Santana says, sitting up until she's hovering over the girl. She squints down at Brittany's face – she's not wearing her glasses, _again_ – and studies her for a moment, her tongue poking through the hole in her smile; Santana's missing her top, right, front tooth. "Close your eyes," she instructs and Brittany does so immediately.

"Now, think about something you really, really want to come true. Something you want to happen more than anything in this world. More than dancing, Britt," Santana whispers.

Brittany screws her eyes tight and searches her brain, thinking beyond kittens and ice cream and candy, beyond ballet and tap, beyond a trip to Walt Disney World until she settles on one thing.

"You got it?" Santana asks.

Brittany nods, eyes still shut tightly.

"Okay, well hold onto that thought and when I so, open your eyes and you'll be able to find your star, okay?"

Santana sounds so sure of herself, so sure it's going to work, but Brittany's not quite there.

"What if it doesn't work?"

"It's gonna work, Britt-Britt," Santana says and she's really close to Brittany's ear all of a sudden, her cheek warm as it brushes against Brittany's. "It's magic."

Brittany doesn't question her this time and when Santana whispers 'Open your eyes' into her ear, so close that her lips brush against Brittany's skin, and Brittany's eyelids snap up, there's one star that burns brighter than the rest.

"You see it?"

"Uh huh," Brittany breathes.

"Make your wish."

**o-X-o**

"What'd you wish for?" Santana asks, curious.

They're back to lying side by side, an inch of space between them as they continue their shared star-gazing.

"No, wait. Don't tell me," she says when Brittany starts to talk. "Okay, tell me. But whisper it. That way we're not really breaking the rule."

Brittany kind of thinks that's still breaking the rule but it's okay. She's gotta feeling this one is going to come true anyway.

"I just wished that me and you would be best friends forever," Brittany says. "And that we'll always have times like this."

Santana's nose crinkles. "Lookin' up at the stars?"

Brittany nods. "It's fun," Brittany murmurs. Her hand crawls between them until she finds Santana's – a little grubby and small – but Brittany holds tight regardless. "Don't you think?"

Brittany watches Santana grin, her smile brighter than the stars, even with the one very noticeable space.

"Yeah."

* * *

_**Love is…having to go on with just a memory.**_

Brittany dies on a Tuesday.

Santana remembers it well.

She wasn't sick or anything and she went peacefully in her sleep so Santana takes solace in that.

But their home feels much too big for her on her own, echoes of the children playing and Brittany's laughter looming in every corridor.

Pictures of a life spent (lived/enjoyed/cherished) together line the walls and every inch of shelf space, and it's hard – unbearably so – at first.

In the beginning, she wanted nothing more than to go out to that graveyard and lie down there until she never wakes up again.

Sometimes, she wants nothing more than to forget – a lifetime forgotten as opposed to the constant haunting of memories past.

But…it gets easier.

Which is ridiculous when she considers the gaping hole in her heart, but it does.

Eventually, she can think of Brittany and smile without the tears, even though the knot in her throat never goes away.

Eventually, she stops sleeping on the couch, their bed no longer seeming like one of the untouchable objects.

Eventually, she laughs at Sam's –remarkably still – dorky jokes, and rolls her eyes at Rachel's annoying banter – they're both widows, now – and she even manages to stop making fun of Artie.

Eventually, she remembers how to live again.

**o-X-o**

The children make it easier of course – the three of them.

Maya, the oldest, frequents most often with her husband, Austin. Sometimes, Brian, their eldest grandson, comes with them, bringing his wife and kids until it's a full blown family reunion. But usually, it's just Maya and Austin, cooking for Santana and making sure that she keeps the kitchen stocked and that her mother has the necessary items, keeping her company until almost forgets.

Sebastian and Jonathan come less often – but she can't blame them, they do live farther away – but they almost always come as a duo.

Jonathan, with his partner Javier and their large clan of (mostly) teenage children and Sebastian (sometimes) with whomever he's currently seeing.

(She keeps pestering him to settle down, but he's not having it. He's normally pretty jokey about his George Clooney lifestyle but the last time Santana mentioned it, his smile didn't quite meet his eyes. 'I can't marry anyone who hasn't met Mom,' he said.

Santana hasn't asked him again).

But usually, if Sebastian brings anyone it's daughter Lila and her girlfriend Jennifer – and Santana gets so nostalgic watching them interact at times, it brings tears to her eyes.

Yes, her family makes it easier, but Brittany's always there, in the twist of Jonathan's smile, in Sebastian's coy, winking eyes, or in Maya's quiet wanderings, and Santana's unable to forget.

**o-X-o**

One Autumn morning, she's going through one of the dresser drawers slowly, trying to find a sweater to throw on – the house is quite cool even though she has the heat on – when her wrinkled fingers trip up on something hard and plastic tucked into the corner of the drawer.

It's a flash drive and it's been decades – seriously, it's been a long time since _anyone _has used a flash drive anymore – so she's a bit worried she won't be able to recover what's on it, but, fortunately their old desktop still has a USB port so she pops it in, intrigued as to what the tiny discovery will reveal.

There's only a single video file on it but it's dated 08-16-2019 so it's appeal just multiplies as Santana clicks it open and she almost cries when that familiar tumble of golden hair comes into focus.

She does cry when she hears Brittany's voice.

_Hey baby,_

_I know this might sound strange because we're on our Honeymoon and I shouldn't be having anything but happy thoughts. And, it is happy, in a way. I've just been thinking about our vows and how I promised to love you forever and how much I mean that, you know?_

_I do mean it, Santana. I'm going to love you until…until the end of time. Until we're wearing dentures and Depends and watching CNN is the highlight of our evening. Until they finally – _finally – _find Carmen San Diego. That's a really long time. _

_And even when I'm not here, when I'm not there with you, when I can't hold you or kiss you or look into your eyes, I'm going to love you then, too, honey. Because even when I'm not there or you can't see me, I am. Wherever you are, that's where I'll be because there's no you without me. And I totally stole that from a song or poem or something but it's still true._

Santana laughs, wiping her eyes with shaking hands.

It's still rather chilly.

"_Britt!"_

Santana watches Brittany's eyes widen a little in panic and she startles even at hearing her own voice cut across the audio.

"_I gotta go, honey. You're calling me. Love you."_

The video ends and two seconds later Santana hits replay.

**o-X-o**

Brittany died on a Tuesday.

Santana remembers it well.

But she also remembers everything else.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note: **41-50

* * *

_**Love is…a change of emphasis (not yours or mine but ours).**_

It shouldn't matter so much.

Brittany's never really cared about labels and such, especially when they were growing up, but now that they're older and the real world is coming at them fast and furious about electric bills and budgets, she finds that these little quiet declarations of their lives together mean a great deal.

It's strange because the whole yours vs. mine thing never really ever came into play with them.

If Santana had a pack of Sour Patch kids, then Brittany may as well have had one too.

And any friends Brittany happened to make acquaintance with knew that she came as a plus-one, no questions asked.

Everything was theirs, and that's all there was to it.

But this whole 'ours' thing?

Well, it's something else entirely.

***o*O*o***

The first time it happens, they're grocery shopping because Santana keeps absolutely nothing in that dorm room of hers with as much time that she spends at Brittany.

Still, they have to at least _pretend _to be adult and spend the money Dr. and Mrs. Lopez send Santana every month responsibly Brittany thinks instead of just 'buying a lot of bling' like Santana initially suggests.

"What'll be Britt-Britt?" Santana asks, holding up two boxes of Kraft Mac 'N Cheese. "SpongeBob or Dino-Shapes?"

"Tough call," Brittany says, mulling the question over. "While SpongeBob is entertaining at face value, nothing quite replaces the classic T-Rex and Triceratops roni-rumble. I'm calling a draw."

"Both boxes it is then," Santana says, tossing them into the cart carelessly before continuing down the aisle. "Ooh. Babe, look."

Brittany does and she sees that Santana's holding a brownie mix box, a delightful grin on her face. "Brownies?"

"We should make some for desert," Santana says giddily, already putting it in the basket. "Actually, we should make a big fancy college kid dinner, you know, with everything made from a box. And we should invite our dorm mates over because we're cool like that and…"

Santana goes on some more, her smile and facial expressions growing more excited by the minute but Brittany kind of blanked out after the 'our' because Santana can't stand her dorm mates. In fact, the only other people they talk to on the regular are Rick and Karen and they're _Brittany's _dorm mates, but, Santana can't possibly be referring to them can she?

"…even though Rick'll probably bring a kale salad or something. Freaking non-meat eating, cauliflower-snacking weirdo. But it sounds like a plan, right?" Santana finally stops to ask again. "Britt?"

"Yeah, um, sounds great," Brittany says, but just to be certain; "We are talking about _our_ dorm mates, Rick and Karen?"

Santana blinks, looking at her oddly. "Yeah." she says slowly. "Why? Did you have someone else in mind?"

"No," Brittany says, smiling easily. "Just making sure."

***o*O*o***

The second time it happens…she's almost too tired to notice.

Almost.

Puck kicks open the door to the bedroom, huffing and puffing as he strains with another box. He groans as he sets it down on the middle of the floor. "You two have way too much shit," he grumps, straightening up with a grunt.

Santana smirks, well into the task of sorting through the innumerable cardboard cartons, "Maybe you're just out of practice, stud. Not a lot of heavy lifting involved in bussing tables."

"Santana, I think this is the last of everything," Sam says, joining them while easily carrying two overstuffed boxes along.

Santana fixes Puck with a smug look and he just sneers.

"But you might want to check on your girl," he adds, sitting them down on the mattress. "I passed her up on the stairs."

When Santana finds her, Brittany's gassed, lying along the stairs in a way that doesn't look none too comfortable.

"Britt-Britt?" Santana asks, stooping down to sit beside her. "Are you okay?"

Brittany sighs. "Who made the decision to get a two-level?"

"Um, that would be you," Santana answers with a smile. "And I quote, 'now we can slide down the railing like Usher did in his video'."

"Oh," Brittany says. "Well, why didn't you stop me?"

"Oh yeah," Santana says sarcastically, moving to stand and holding her hands out to help Brittany up. Santana kisses her soundly, taking Brittany's bottom lip between her own. "…like I've ever been good at saying no to you."

"Truth," Puck agrees, standing at the top of the stairs with Sam, both of them watching the girls with warmth in their eyes. Sometimes, Brittany can't believe Puck's the same guy who'd probably make a crack about joining them a few years ago. They've all gotten so mature since high school.

"We're gonna go get some Gatorade and something to eat to recharge. You scissor sisters want anything?"

And then sometimes it's easier to believe.

"Just bring us back a burger or something," Santana says, waving off his crack without concern as they all pass one another on the stairs. "And don't forget Brittany's chocolate shake."

Puck holds out his hand. "Uh, money?"

"Uh, get out of our house," Santana fires back, shoving his aside playfully before pulling Brittany up the stairs with her.

Brittany giggles at the faux shocked expression Puck's wearing and allows Santana to drag her all the way into the bedroom again before it fully settles on her tired mind and her breath catches.

She doesn't have time to dwell on it too long though because Santana's rounding on her, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Hey," she murmurs, sliding her hands around Brittany's hips until they're resting low on her back, fingertips sliding just under the waistband of Brittany's well-worn denim jeans. "You think we have time to christen our bedroom before Trouty and Tonto come back?"

Brittany swallows, her arms coming to rest around Santana's shoulders. "Our bedroom," she echoes quietly and she watches as Santana's eyes spark, her girlfriend leading her back to the mattress blindly.

"Our bedroom in our house…" Santana repeats, pulling Brittany down on top of her as she falls onto the bed.

***o*O*o***

The third time (or possibly three-hundredth time) Santana says it it actually resonates so strongly with Brittany that it vibrates along her bones and soaks into her soul.

It happens as a result of someone else's ignorance and Brittany can't believe she even let it get to her so quickly, but it did, and very suddenly she notices all the differences between herself and her daughter.

"_Look at your daughter, Britt," Santana says, her voice hardening and the tone contrasts so much with the one she just had, Brittany quickly obeys, her eyes finding a curious Maya staring up at her._

"_I gave birth to her," Santana says, her voice thick with emotion, "She grew inside of me, and, yes, scientifically you didn't have much to do with that. But you look at her, Britt. You look at her and tell me she doesn't feel like she's yours. You look at her and tell me that you don't see half of you and half of me staring back at you. Because that's all I see and that's the only proof I'll ever need."_

_Brittany looks at Maya, sees the tiny nose and set of her eyes that screams Santana, but, there are telltale signs of Brittany there as well. From the open almost blank expression on her face, to the crooked half-smile Brittany almost always wears. She is both of them and, damn it, she always will be._

_A slow smile spreads across Brittany's face. "She's ours," she whispers, trailing a finger down between Maya's eyebrows and along her nose, smiling wider when Maya's eyes cross trying to follow it because Brittany so does that. "She's totally ours."_

_Santana smiles. "Totally."_

* * *

_**Love is…getting her favorite song played on the radio.**_

Romantic gestures aren't necessarily Brittany's forte.

She pulls them off well enough because she can never really go wrong when it comes to impressing Santana.

It's one of the many built-in perks of their relationship.

But sometimes Brittany wants to pull off that swoon-worthy, weak in the knees gesture and just blow Santana's mind with how romantic she's been and yes, usually it's after watching one of those many rom-coms they own, but so what. She still wants to do it.

She can't help it.

She just wants to take her girl's breath away.

***o*O*o***

They almost miss it entirely because Santana's mom calls at the worst possible time and Brittany spends the entire ten minutes trying to figure out how she'll be able to apologize to the woman who gave birth to the girl she's in love with because she's totally just going to disconnect the call but fortunately it doesn't come to that.

And, before she can blink, Santana's hanging up with a quick 'Bye. Love you' and asking Brittany if she ate too many skittles again because she looks like she's about to vomit.

"I'm fine," Brittany says, shaking her head. "I'm good."

Santana doesn't really look like she believes that. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Brittany assures her, though her voice sounds strained even to her own ears. She glances at the clock one last time before pushing up from the couch. "You feel like listening to some music?"

"Brittany-"

"'Cause I do," Brittany goes on to say, turning on the stereo and quickly navigating to their favorite station. "Ah," she says and she wishes more than anything that she could stop sounding like she's reciting a script, but she's nervous so she can't, "Here we go."

There's an advertisement just finishing up when she settles on a station and she can feel more than she sees Santana's eyes on her and she knows it'll only be a moment or two before Santana'll ask her what's going on, but, thankfully, the DJ comes back on the air.

"_Alright, folks, it that time of day again. So, listen up Santana. This one's for you._"

Brittany's entire body goes stock-still when she hears her tape being played, her anxious, flighty voice floating across the airwaves.

"_Um, is it recording?...Yeah?...okay, um, Hi, Santana. It's me, Brittany. I just wanted to do something so that you know how special I think you are and how much I love you. You're always singing me all of these really pretty songs and it sucks that I can't sing you anything quite as lovely but hopefully this is a step in that direction. Okay, so here's the song. I hope you like it. Love you._"

Brittany turns away from the radio then, her eyes quickly seeking out Santana's widened ones. They glimmer in the low lamplight and she smiles at the way Santana's jaw hangs slack as the music starts to play.

_**One, Two**_

_**One, Two, Three, Four**_

_**Give me more lovin' than I've ever had**_

_**Make it all better when I'm feelin' sad**_

_**Tell me that I'm special even when I know I'm not**__**  
**_

_**Make me feel good when I hurt so bad**_

_**Barely gettin' mad, I'm so glad I found you**_

_**I love bein' around you**_

_**You make it easy, **_

_**It's as easy as One, Two, One, Two, Three, Four**_

_**There's only one thing to do**_

_**Three words for you….**_

_**I love you**_

_**There's only one way to say**_

_**Those three words**_

_**And that's what I'll do…**_

_**I love you**_

At song's end, Santana's staring at Brittany like she's made of all the best things in the world.

"_Again, that was the Plain White T's to Santana from Brittany with love. And we'll be back just after this brief commercial break."_

Brittany turns to stereo off without looking at it, feeling herself grow shy under Santana's gaze. "Okay," she breathes, taking in a shaky breath.

"You got a song to play for me on the radio," Santana finally says. "No one's ever done anything like that for me before."

Brittany shrugs bashfully, looking at the floor. "Yeah," she murmurs. "I'm glad."

"Can you come over here so I can kiss you, though?" Santana asks. "I'd come to you but I think my knees'll give out halfway there."

Brittany grins, eagerly joining her girlfriend on the couch but her kiss involves her hand slipping down the front of Santana's shorts without preamble.

After all, she's still got to take Santana's breath away.

* * *

_**Love is…two sets of footprints in the sand.**_

Sunset.

On the beach.

Walking hand in hand with the person you love.

Santana didn't ever think she'd have that – at least not in the truest sense.

But here she is, fresh off a somewhat successful first year of college and a completely unnecessary breakup – and subsequent _vital_ make-up – strolling along the Pacific coastline with Brittany.

Brittany, her once-again girlfriend.

Her high-school graduate, college-bound girlfriend.

The dumbest thing she's ever done – even dumber than that stupid, panic-motivated statement she made junior year – was think that she and Brittany weren't strong enough to make it through.

That there was possibly someone else out there for Brittany – someone who'd love her better.

She should have known – as she'd always known before – only she could love Brittany best.

"You're being quiet again," Brittany says, swinging their hands a little higher, making Santana smile.

"I'm just thinking," she says, chuckling at Brittany's antics.

"Are you thinking about that last scoop of butter pecan ice cream? Because I totally don't know where that went," Brittany says, a crooked smile on her face and Santana tugs on her hand to pull her in, not caring for the few stragglers and stray eyes that still populate the beach.

"You sure about that Miss Pierce," she asks, wrapping her free arm around Brittany's waist and holding her close. "You wouldn't be lying to me would you?"

"Nope," Brittany grins, crossing her eyes and they both laugh then at her silliness.

"Man," Santana sighs when they've settled down a little, Brittany's other hand slipping into the back pocket of her shorts. "I really, really love you."

Brittany laughs. "I really, really love you too."

"No," Santana says when Brittany tried to get them moving again. "I mean, I love you. I'll always love you," she shrugs, looking a little shy and feeling foolish for her own intensity. "Only you, Britt."

But Brittany – her girlfriend forever – just smiles that all too brilliant, heart-stopping smile and nods. "I know. And I'll love you forever too, honey."

Santana feels her body relax having grown rigid for a moment there and then Brittany laughs, carefree and loving all at once. Using the hand that's still holding onto Santana's to twirl her around playfully. "One of these days, I'll get you something to prove it," she adds, grinning coyly when Santana's eyes widen.

Without saying anything else, Brittany pulls her closer again, resuming their walk down the beach.

Their footsteps trail behind them and even the ocean waves rushing up the shore doesn't wash them away.

* * *

_**Love is…in the air.**_

One of the first actual dates they go on is equally the best and worst night of Santana's young life.

It's the best because, hello, she's on a date with Brittany a.k.a. the girl of her dreams.

It's the worst because Brittany gets to see just how much of a pussy Santana really is.

Not that Brittany doesn't know this already – in fact, Brittany's pretty much the _only_ one who knows this – but Santana usually doesn't display it quite so readily.

Santana also usually doesn't readily agree to go for a ride on the _Demon Express_ as well but Brittany can be damn convincing at times.

And Brittany, brushing against her hand, and pouting up at her (even though she's an inch or so taller), and blinking those expressive as hell baby blues at her again could convince Mitt Romney to vote for President Obama.

Twice.

"I'm so excited," Brittany whisper-says, bouncing in place a little and Santana's eyes follow her fluttery movement, trying and failing to contain her smile.

"Me too," she says or tries to anyway; her impending doom kind of makes it come out as more of a whisper.

The line, unfortunately, moves quickly and the closer they get the more Santana can feel her heart trying to beat out of her chest – although as this point she's not sure if it's only the ride causing her this anxiety or the way Brittany's rubbing her finger over her thumbnail.

She can't dwell over it too long because they're now at the front of the line and as the carnie swings open the gate to let them on, Brittany drags her excitedly to the very last row of the very last car.

"This is the best spot," Brittany whispers conspiratorially. "You feel the drops a _lot_ more."

Shoot her dead.

Shoot her dead now.

She guesses she's doing a good job of hiding it until their buckled in securely, the harness around her neck clamping down on her like the jaws of life, but then Brittany stops bouncing enough to actually _look_ at her and she knows her face is telling it all.

She wants off this damn roller coaster.

And she wants off it now.

"I can't do this, Britt," she finally says lowly, shaking her head back and forth as the car starts the climb skyward.

"San," Brittany says, so gently it makes Santana whimper. "It's too late now. We're already off the ground and I don't think this one goes backward."

"THEY CAN GO BACKWARD!" she exclaims, panic settling in quickly.

"Santana," Brittany tries to say, keeping her voice low. "Calm down. There are kids on this ride."

"I don't care, Britt-Britt. I don't care," she says, squinting her eyes closed as s sudden wave of nausea hits her. "I'm sorry you're dating such a spaz. I'm sorry I can't even go on a stupid, fucking, roller coaster ride with you."

Brittany – and Santana can't figure out why, and when she asks Brittany many, many years later, Brittany will only smile in remembrance and not say a word – inexplicably laughs. "Santana," she says, still chortling as they climb higher, "It you're so scared of roller coasters then why did you get on with me?"

Santana opens her eyes then, her gaze quickly finding Brittany's. "Because you're my girlfriend and you wanted to get on."

The people at the front of the car are just starting to yell when Brittany's smile softens but she never feels the drop as Brittany kisses her.

* * *

_**Love is…something that can tie you up in knots.**_

Brittany's always been a little…adventurous…when it came to their sexual activities.

There's the armpit thing, of course, which Santana's come to accept.

(…and possibly enjoy a little, too, but she'll be damned if she admits that to anyone.)

And then there's this other thing…with the…and the…yeah, Santana's not going into any details on _that _one.

(Regardless of how much fun it is and how much she enjoys it, some of the things she and Brittany do in _their_ bedroom should stay in _their _bedroom; especially with a creep-o perv like Puckerman slithering around.)

And, yeah, Brittany likes recording getting them on a lot which really helps out when Brittany's on her business trips or if Santana's on tour.

(She prays to God, Buddha, Allah, Yahweh…_all_ of them, that those things never get out. She'd have her own _Hustelette _enterprise.)

So, you know, Santana gets (and pretty much enjoys) the fact that her girl is kind of like the sexytimes Russian roulette game – she never exactly know what she's gonna get and that works to her advantage…_most_ of the times.

This is not one of those times.

"Um…Britt?" Santana says, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice to no avail. "Not that I don't want to, you know, get it on 'til the break of dawn, but, uh, what the actual fuck is going on?"

She's not being mean.

She's not being short.

She genuinely wants to know because right now she's naked, spread eagle on their bed, blind-folded with her ankles and wrists tethered to the headboard and footboard respectively.

Also, Brittany hasn't said anything in a really long time.

She needs answers.

"We're having sexytimes," Brittany answers and she sounds really far away which isn't really cool because something furry totally just brushed up against her foot.

"Don't worry," Brittany adds, probably noticing her flinch and subsequent 'wtf' face, "That was Tubbs but I'm going to lock him in the closet or something in a minute."

She doesn't know why she's so jumpy.

They've done the blind-fold thing before.

They've done the scarves.

She trusts Brittany completely and, due to the amount and frequency of mid-afternoon sexts, she's kind of overdue for some lady lovin'.

But there's something about being bound and blind that has her stomach all knotted up in not so pleasant anticipation.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when Brittany finally touches her.

"Relax," Brittany chuckles, her palm gliding across the smooth skin of Santana's tummy.

"Kind of hard to do that when I have no idea what my girlfriend is going to do to me," she grumbles, her shoulders starting to ache just a little. "And when did you turn into a freaking ninja? I can hardly hear you breathing."

"That's the point," Brittany sighs, circling her index finger around Santana's belly button. "It's supposed to heighten arousal."

Without warning, Brittany's mouth claims Santana's right nipple, her tongue laving the stiff bud until it's almost painful.

"Guh," Santana grunts, rather unattractively when Brittany pulls away, her body arching instinctively to follow along.

"See?" Brittany hums and Santana can hear the smile in her voice. "'S good, right?"

Santana nods, licking her lips and arching her back, hoping to entice Brittany to come back. "More?"

Brittany chuckles huskily and Santana feels the bed dip on either side of her hips but Brittany's not touching her.

"Just one…more second," she hears Brittany whisper, her voice far enough away for Santana to realize she's standing over her and then…

…then Brittany pours sand all over her.

Santana can't stop herself from rolling her eyes, grateful now more than ever for the blindfold, her abs contracting when she feels Brittany's mouth on her skin again, tongue swirling over the muscles of her tummy.

"Britt?"

"Hmm?" Brittany hums against her skin.

"Did you just crack open a Pixie stick on my stomach?"

"Mmm," Brittany moans, her tongue flicking out expertly and even though the granules are sort of scratchy against her skin, she still feels (and she feels ridiculous about it too) somewhat turned on. "Yeah. You taste so good right now, San."

Yeah, her girlfriend's got some weird sexual proclivities, but it all kind of works out in the end.

* * *

_**Love is…when you can't wait for her text messages.**_

"Hey Brittany," Tina says as the blonde girl plops down at their table looking rather glum. "What's up?"

"I don't know," Brittany grumbles, staring up at the cafeteria ceiling, "Ugly ceiling tile?"

Sugar's eyes narrow as Brittany stabs her pudding cup with a little more vigor than necessary.

Also, she had no idea you could get that much result out of a spork.

"So, I was thinking," Tina starts again, deciding to leave it alone. "Since we're the only remaining Glee girls and everything that maybe we should have a little girl's night in. You know? Bonding time."

"Ooh," Sugar says, her eyes widening with interest. "That sounds fun."

Brittany mumbles something unintelligible before stuffing a sporkful of chocolate pudding into her mouth.

"We could," Tina starts slowly, eyeing her friend warily, "watch some movies, eat a lot of junk food-"

"Pft."

"I'm sorry, Brittany?" Tina finally asks, "Is something bothering you?"

"No," Brittany answers with a shrug, mouth full of pudding. "Why would anything be bothering me? I just, you know, haven't heard from my girlfriend but I mean, that's no big deal, right?"

"Oh," Tina says, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, maybe-"

"I mean it's not like I'm _dying_ for her to call me or anything. I've got a life. I've got stuff to do," Brittany keeps saying. "There are Lord Tubbington's hot yoga lessons; there are my Armpits Anonymous meetings. I'm a very busy girl too, you know?"

"Right," Sugar agrees with a nod. "Sant-"

"And I'm not one of those needy girlfriends. I'm really not. I'm not Rachel or anything. Heck, we hardly even talked when she was here so, like, I'm good."

She finally stops for a minute, twisting her spork around in the plastic pudding cup rather violently.

Tina and Sugar look at one another.

Sugar tries again, "Brittan-"

"Why won't she call me?" Brittany suddenly cries out, deserting the pudding cup in favor of putting her head down on the table. "She won't even text me. I've been staring at my phone but nothing ever happens. The screen just stays dark. Kiki won't even talk to me anymore."

Tina reaches across to rub the girl's shoulder but Sugar pops an eyebrow, thinking. "Brittany, let me see your phone."

Brittany, sniffling, pulls the phone out of her bra and hands it over trustingly.

"Um, Brittany?" Sugar asks, pressing a few buttons, "When's the last time you charged this thing?"

Brittany looks at her. "I haven't."

"But didn't you find it like a week ago?" Tina's asking this time.

Brittany sighs, rolling her eyes. "Yes Tina. I found the phone. Not a charger."

"What Tina's saying, Brittany, is that the phone is dead. It's not on," Sugar explains brightly. "Which means that Santana's not ignoring you at all. You just need to turn your phone back on."

"Here," Tina says, pulling out her own phone and taking out the battery. "I think my battery'll fit."

Brittany looks on as Tina swaps the two, her phone chiming before speaking: _Hello Santana's Britty-Boo_.

Brittany blushes darkly when Tina and Sugar chuckle, before snatching her phone back. "Shut up."

_You have fourteen new text messages and five voicemails, _Kiki continues.

"They're from Santana," Brittany gasps, instantly giddy again as she goes through them all. "They're all from Santana. She still totally loves me."

Tina and Sugar just smile.

As if it was ever in doubt.

* * *

_**Love is…the clear winner. **_

It's summer and it's weird.

Before this past year, Santana's head would've spun _all_ the way around if Brittany even mentioned the words Rachel and party in the same paragraph, let alone sentence.

But now that they're dating, when Brittany casually mentions the glee kids are throwing a barbecue at Rachel's abode and that they're invited, Santana just shrugs and says 'okay' like hearing Rachel's name doesn't make her skin crawl and she's kind of perplexed because when did that happen?

Nevertheless, they show up at the party hand in hand – actually Santana's hand starting to do a little wandering, seemingly intrigued by the knotted strings of Brittany's bikini top until Brittany put an end to that little expedition with a smirk and quick kiss.

And everyone's there.

Tina and Mike are splashing around in the pool, Artie's floating by idly alongside them, while Kurt and Sam man the grill. Sugar, the newbie, whom Santana has developed a fast and odd fondness for is spinning in circles off in one corner of the yard while Finn and Puck engage in a water gun fight, with a shrieking Rachel caught in the crossfire. Quinn's letting Mercedes braid her hair poolside, which should be weird considering Quinn's just back from crazy town and _technically_ Mercedes, Sugar, Brittany, and herself are the enemy – TroubleTones for life – but she just chalks it up to everyone wanting a break from all of _that_, plus, you know, pool.

Blaine, who is, according to the chart, one spontaneous solo away from overtaking Rachel in 'people who make her want to pluck out her eyelashes', is the first to greet them.

"Hey guys," he breathes, still sloshing water over the patio from a recent dip in the pool. "Glad you could make it."

"So are we," Brittany says before Santana can say anything snappy and the look Brittany gives her lets her know that Brittany knows exactly what it was.

She glances up at Brittany from under her eyelashes, smiling sweetly and Blaine chuckles, breaking the spell.

"You two are too cute," he preens, clapping his hands together before gesturing for them to follow. "Hey all. The love birds are here."

Santana glares after him, but Brittany just laughs, wrapping an arm around Santana's waist. "That be us."

This is another thing she's not really used to.

Since they're the latest news in this dysfunctional, semi-splintered family know as glee club, everyone seems to have developed this interest in them – and not just of the pervy variety either.

Everyone wants to know how they work, which is absurd, because they work exactly the same as they always have, just with a little more kisses and cuddles.

They are still very much Brittany and Santana; still fiercely and foremost loyal to one another.

Nothing's really changed.

And, as luck would have it, they prove it that afternoon.

***o*O*o***

"You're going down, Pierce," Mike barks, stretching his arms back and forth in a perfect imitation of Michael Phelps.

"Shut it boy-Chang before I extinct another Panda," Santana snaps back, spinning to Brittany when she feels a firm tug on her arm.

"You wouldn't hurt a Panda, San," Brittany says, frowning.

"Of course not, Britt," Santana whispers to her quickly. "I'm just talking trash." She turns back to Mike. "My girlfriend is going to kick your non-existent ass!"

She's not sure how exactly it happens but she and Tina get into a faux-shouting match that somehow results in Mike and Brittany having a swimming race across the pool.

"She wishes," Mike says, sticking out his tongue, then his butt, wriggling it around.

Brittany giggles.

Santana turns to look at her again. "Britt."

"I'm sorry."

"You're totally not game-facing it right now."

"Okay. Okay," Brittany says, screwing on her serious face. "I'm in the zone."

Santana looks her over. "You have to win."

"I'm gonna," Brittany says. "I feel like I'm fighting for your honor or something. And nobody dishonors my lady."

Santana chuckles, rubbing Brittany's shoulders. "I'm your lady now."

"You're my boo."

"Okay, you two," Sam says, interrupting them with a big, Joker-like grin on his face. "Whoever swims the length of the pool and back first wins."

Tina plants one hell of a smooch on Mike before she moves out of his way and Santana watches as Brittany turns to look at her, a hopeful expression in her eyes.

But, as much as she wants to, she can feel everyone else eyeing her too and she's not there yet. So she swallows down the disappointed look in Brittany's eyes and kisses her on the cheek before moving aside as well.

Brittany's shoulders lump just a little, but she still smiles at Santana, even though it doesn't really reach her eyes.

"On your mark," Sugar counts down, "Get set. GO!"

They both crash into the water awkwardly, not the most adept divers, but both Mike and Brittany are really athletic and soon they're both ripping across the surface of the water, legs and arms churning as everyone cheers them on.

But, Santana…

Santana's playing the last few seconds in her mind.

Wondering why she didn't just kiss her girlfriend when it's what Brittany wanted, when it's what she wanted…hell, probably everyone wanted them to kiss just then and she just…

…she didn't.

In a blink, Brittany and Mike are headed back towards them, slower now but still churning steadily, and the loud splashing is all but drowned out by the shouting around her.

Tina's on her knees, clapping and spurning Mike onward but Santana remains motionless, still too caught up in her own mind to process anything and before she knows it Brittany's hand is reaching the wall, fingertips searching…

Santana jumps in the pool.

"What-" Brittany starts to say, trying to blink the water out of her eyes but Santana just dives in, barely letting her girlfriend take a breath before kissing her deeply.

They rock in the water, her hands cradling Brittany's face and Brittany's own find her hips, holding her tightly and kissing her back just a fiercely.

It's gone dead quiet but Santana can't tell if that's only because she can hear the blood rushing through her ears or because Brittany's moans of contentment are the only things she cares to hear.

She thinks it may be the latter.

At long last, and after a short millennium, Brittany pulls back, gasping for breath and looking like her heart's beating in her lips.

Santana traces her thumb over the bottom one, still cupping Brittany's jaw before she chances a glance at their friends.

Everyone's still, everyone's quiet.

Rachel's – wonder of all wonders – speechless and Artie's glasses are fogging up.

Tina's jaw is on the floor and Mike is standing in the pool alongside them, absolutely flabbergasted, his eyes so wide he looks…not Asian.

Slowly and with a smirk, Santana grabs Brittany's hand, bringing it up to touch the wall behind her.

"Britt wins," she says, daring anyone to say different.

But Sam just nods slowly. "She does."

* * *

_**Love is…a little old-fashioned courting.**_

This is dumb, Santana thinks.

It's dumb and stupid and antiquated and she should just turn around and leave right now.

Save whatever dignity she has left.

She doesn't know what convinced her that showing up to Brittany's house announced, toting a bouquet of flowers and wearing her nicest dress would be a good idea because, as little Wes Brody rides by on his bike, pointing at her and laughing, she feels like an absolute tool.

She can't even scowl back.

Maybe she can still make a break for it.

"Santana?" Brittany asks wearing a curious smile. She assesses Santana's outfit and cocks her head to the side.

"What are you doing here? And why do you look so extra pretty? And are those flowers?"

Santana panics, absolutely panics, because before she knows it she's almost thrusting the bouquet of flowers into Brittany's chest and stuttering like Dustin Hoffman in _Rain Man_.

"H-h-hey, Britt. So, I-I-I w-w-as wondering if you'd…you know, want to g-g-go out, sometime? With m-m-me?"

Brittany smiles at her and she almost melts into a puddle of mush when the other girl takes a long sniff of the flowers as she holds them against her. "Santana, we're dating now. Don't you remember? There was shrimp and everything."

Santana nods as she swallows. "I know. I just wanted to do something a little more…classic."

"Are you trying to woo me?" Brittany grins and Santana feels her face heat up. "'Cause if so, it's totally working."

* * *

_**Love is…when she starts noticing as you walk by.**_

Santana started noticing Brittany seemingly overnight.

Santana isn't exactly sure when it changed but one day Brittany's just her blonde bestie who gives the best piggy-back rides and the next, she's this really pretty girl with the bluest blue eyes and legs that won't quit.

It doesn't really help matters much that Santana feels incredibly awkward these days what with her sore, growing boobs and her acne and her difficult as ever hair.

Her limbs are longer than she can keep up with and on top of all of that, boys are starting to show interest in them and she's still not really _into _them like she's supposed to be.

She's much more into watching Brittany practice headstands in the middle of her bedroom, a funny feeling settling in her tummy every time Brittany's t-shirt reveals a little more skin.

"Whoa," Brittany says, lowering herself back down. "I'm a little dizzy now."

Santana giggles, blowing on her wet nails as she lies on her bed. "Well, you've been upside-down for ten minutes."

Brittany crawls over to the bed before sliding on top of it, all elegant and graceful like she hasn't just shot up a couple inches in a week or two.

Santana doesn't know how she does it.

"Are you gonna do your toes too?" Brittany asks, poking at Santana's pinky toe with her pinky finger.

"I dunno," Santana says, fighting against everything inside her that wants to jerk her foot away. "I think they're okay au natural."

"Yeah," Brittany agrees, blowing forth a lazy breath that tickles the sole of Santana's foot. "You do have pretty toes."

Santana, much to her own mortification, unwittingly starts to flush. She can feel it working its way up her neck and prays that Brittany won't notice but, of course –

"Are you blushing?"

"What?" Santana breathes/laughs. "No."

Brittany giggles, pushing herself up on her arms as she inspects Santana's face. "You totally are. And you said ethnic people didn't blush."

"They don't," Santana insists, finding herself unable to meet Brittany's eyes, "and I'm not. You're crazy."

"Am not," is Brittany's come back, moving up the bed until she's sitting a little in front and to the left of Santana. "And you are blushing. Aww. You're blushing 'cause I said you have pretty toes."

Brittany's having too much fun with this and Santana's much too uncomfortable in her own skin these days to tease back, opting instead to flop back onto her bed and bury her face in her hands with a groan.

Brittany just follows, tugging at her hands, still laughing. "No hiding."

"Then stop teasing," Santana murmurs, resisting but Brittany's still stronger than her – some things won't ever change – and before long she's settled with squinting her eyes closed as hard as she can.

"I'll stop teasing," Brittany says and she's close, way, way, way close. Santana can tell because she felt those words more than she heard them. "I'll stop teasing if you open your eyes."

She shouldn't, she thinks.

For some reason, she just knew that if she opens her eyes something big's going to happen – something that'll change the way she sees Brittany forever.

But she does it anyway.

Brittany's got a freckle just above her lip and Santana's surprised she's never seen it before but then again, Brittany's never _ever_ been this close before.

"You've got pretty toes, Santana. I've always thought so," Brittany says quietly, almost like she speaks when she sleeps over and talks in her sleep. "You've got pretty eyes and pretty hair and a pretty smile," Brittany touches a tentative hand to Santana's cheek. "You've got pretty everything."

And then Brittany kisses her.

Santana started noticing Brittany seemingly overnight.

But, Brittany, it seems has been noticing her all along.

* * *

_**Love is…thinking of the best things in your lives – each other.**_

"Okay class, today's writing assignment is…"

Santana and Brittany, pinkies linked between their two desks, smack their gum loudly as the both look blankly at the chalkboard before them.

Mr. Rickles, or Mr. Dry-Eye-Commercial-Guy as he's known in the most popular of circles, continues to drone on about their upcoming assignment.

"…write a poem about the best thing in your life and a select few of you will be expected to read your poem aloud," Mr. Rickles continues as the class groans loudly. "Oh, quit your moaning. I'm only calling on the best and brightest of you. That means you Puckerman."

Santana giggles as Puck lets his forehead drop to the desk.

"Can I go too?" Brittany asks, forgetting to raise only her right hand so that Santana's goes along for the ride.

Mr. Rickles smiles. "Of course you can, Miss Pierce. I'll be ripe with anticipation awaiting your composition."

Santana doesn't really like the way he says that but Brittany misses it entirely as her nose wrinkles. "I think they have pink medicine for that."

***o*O*o***

One thing Santana's come to realize in her sixteen and counting years on this planet is that life-changing moments don't come with any forewarning.

She got her first period while riding on the back of Brittan's bicycle, her best friend giving her use of the entire seat while she drove them along. She didn't even realize anything had happened until she climbed off of Brittany's banana seat and almost blushed purple when she noticed the small stain.

And, then, no one gave her any indication that when she hugged goodbye to Abuelo last Thanksgiving that it would be the last time she'd do it. Heart attacks don't announce their arrivals either.

So, Santana should be used to life and its unexpected tendencies at this point, but, it's a Thursday – a dull and bleary day, where it's raining just hard enough to keep the sun away but light enough that there's no lightning and thunder and nothing of magnitude ever happens on a _Thursday_.

At least, not since _Friends_ went off the air.

"I had a tough time with this one Mr. Rickles," Puck announces, holding his crumpled up piece of paper before him as she stands in front of the class. He's wearing a smirk – prepared to deliver some ridiculous anecdote, Santana's sure – and usually she'd be all interested in Puck and his idiocy but Brittany's been playing with her fingers for the last minute or so and it's incredibly distracting, especially with the way Brittany's smiling softl to herself as she does so, like she's got some little secret.

"So, you wanted us to write about the best things in our life," Puck continues, "And, after giving it a lot of thought, there was naturally, truly, only one possible conclusion. And so," Puck says, clearing his throat, "I present to you: _My Cock_."

Mr. Rickles waves his hand, calling for an end to the charade. "Okay, Mr. Puckerman."

"To stroke or not to stroke: That is the question."

"Mr. Puckerman," Mr. Rickles warns.

"One time I didn't do it and I learned my lesson."

"Noah."

"On my jeans did I slip,"

"Noah."

"Then I pulled up the zip,"

"NOAH," Mr. Rickles says sternly, standing up from his desk and pointing a finger at Puck. "If you finish that you will have detention for a month."

"…and I screamed like Jessica Simpson."

"That's it," Mr. Rickles says, loudly, speaking over the sudden and idiotic applause, "Noah, you're dismissed. I'll see you after class in Principal Figgins' office."

Puck raises his arms in the air in victory, gathering his things as he leaves the room. "Puckerman out."

"Okay, settle down. Settle down," Mr. Rickles tells them all, closing the door behind the class clown. "We've still got another twenty minutes or so to go. Now, who else should I call on?"

Everyone, including Santana, slumps a little lower in their seats but Brittany waves her hand – the free one this time – in the air frantically, almost coming out of her seat.

"Mr. Rickles," she calls out. "You said I could go."

The man looks so reluctant. "I know I did."

"Well, can I?" Brittany asks and Santana finds herself getting upset at Mr. Rickles when he hesitates for a moment longer but then his shoulder slump in defeat. "Sure, Miss Pierce. You have the floor."

Santana watches as her friend opens up her notebook, pulling out a pristine piece of paper with crayon-lettering filling every line.

Whatever Brittany's written is long.

Finally, Brittany turns loose her hand and heads for the front of the room, almost skipping, her Cheerios skirt fluttering about carelessly.

"Okay," Brittany says, squaring her shoulders proudly as she holds her paper in front of her, "My best thing paper is titled _My Best Thing_."

A few people behind Santana snicker but a quickly glare from her shuts them up.

"My best thing makes me feel extra special all the time. When I'm feeling sad, it makes me feel fine. It helps me with homework, when I stumble a bit. And if I'm feeling low, it calls me the shh…" Brittany cuts off here, glancing at Mr. Rickles out of the corner of her eye, "…stuff."

The class laughs a little again, but it's stilted, almost subdued.

They're paying attention and Santana, well, she's absolutely enthralled.

"It knows all about me, my thoughts and my heart. So we're always together, even when we're apart. There's nothing else like it, and never will be again. Because there's only one of 'em out there, my best thing, my best friend."

All the girls 'aww' cutely when Brittany finishes, giving a little smile in Santana's direction and even the dumb jock boys can only roll their eyes, seemingly de-buffooned by Brittany's sweet, sweet words.

And Santana's either slipping into a diabetic coma or so unbelievably shell-shocked by the admission and consequent feelings that she's rendered still and mute.

"That," Mr. Rickles starts, staring at the girl in awe, "Was very well-written, Miss Pierce. I am impressed."

"Thank you," Brittany murmurs, turning a little red at the atypical praise.

She returns to her seat after sitting the poem on Mr. Rickles desk, sliding into the seat next to Santana.

Without saying anything, Brittany reaches across the gap and links their pinkies together quietly until Santana finally has to look at her, ignoring Jacob Ben Israel's rambling free-verse about – surprise, surprise – Rachel Berry.

"Did you like it?" Brittany asks and Santana nods, smiling softly.

"It was really good, Brittany," she admits, then, before she can stop herself, "I'm kinda surprised you did it all by yourself."

She winces as she says it, fearing she may have unintentionally hurt Brittany's feelings but her blonde bestie just grins. "Homework's easy when it's my favorite subject," she answers with a shrug and a look that makes Santana's heart beat in her ears.

But Brittany hates English – _too many big words and stuff and stuff_, she once said.

"What's your favorite subject?" Santana asks, suddenly confused and she feels Brittany grip her pinky tighten, watches Brittany bite her lower lip gently as she slowly works to weave their fingers together.

Brittany looks away, her eyes growing unfocused as they stare at the blackboard before they turn back to Santana, shining brightly, so bright that Santana doesn't think it's so dreary out anymore.

"You."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note: ** So a huge thank you is in order to all of you who donated on the movie campaign. Danke, danke, danke! Everything's rolling right along now and I owe a large part of that to you guys and your contributions (monetary, volunteerism, or otherwise). I'll post little updates on the movie project on Tumblr but I'll drop a few lines in fic updates when they happen, lol. Not gonna lie. Shit has kinda hit the fan and finding time to write (not to mention enthusiasm) is the biggest chore. But I shall not stop. That's a promise. Thanks again folks; for reading, reviewing, and everything else in between. Happy Tuesday!

* * *

_**Love is…relaxing together with a cool drink.**_

"I distinctly remember swearing I was never going to do this again," Santana says, swiping her brow as she gazes up at the half-painted wall. "How am I doing this again? Especially now that we can afford to pay someone else to do it."

"Because we agreed that we'd decorate the baby's nursery ourselves so that it'd be personal," Brittany explains, putting down her roller and reaching out for Santana's denim overall-covered tummy.

She's barely gotten any bigger, but, four months in Santana's sporting just the tiniest little pouch.

Brittany thinks it's really cute.

"We want this little one to know that its mommies loved it so much that they suffered through painting five-hundred and forty square feet of wall all, by, them, selves," Brittany concludes, punctuating the words near the end of her sentence with a series of kisses to the rough fabric.

Santana smiles down at her, the roller she's holding dangling haphazardly in her right hand as the fingers of her left tangle in Brittany's loose hair. "You're such a goober, Britt."

"And you're so amazing," Brittany says, looking up at her with fond eyes. She watches with amusement as Santana starts to get choked up, her hormones have really been wreaking havoc this week, before she pushes herself into a standing position again, fighting back a chuckle.

"Okay," she breathes out, taking Santana's roller away as well. "Break time."

"Okay," Santana murmurs, her voice thick with tears and Brittany's can't fight her laugh back this time.

"I love this," she teases, dropping a kiss to Santana's forehead. "Before, it was always me crying whenever you sing to me. Now, I say something even remotely pretty and you cry like Mufasa's dying."

Santana looks like she wants to laugh, but she can't stave off the tears to do so.

She's literally craughing. "Shut up," she mutters as best she can.

"Oh my God," Brittany laughs, pulling her wife into her so they can go into the kitchen. "You're so freakin' cute, right now."

***o*O*o*O*o***

A half a glass of lemonade and Santana's back to normal, stretched across the couch with her feet in Brittany's lap, relaxing as her wife rubs the ache out of them.

"What are you thinking?" Brittany suddenly asks, catching Santana off-guard as she disturbs their quiet peace.

"Nothing really," Santana answers after a moment. "What about you?"

"I'm thinking…about our baby," Brittany says, smiling warmly. "You know like, right now, he or she's probably swimming laps in your tummy."

Santana chuckles, placing her hands to her stomach. "Yeah? Is he or she going to be the next Michael Phelps?"

"Of course not," Brittany says like it's absolutely ludicrous. "How can they if their last name is Pierce?"

Santana nods with a warm smile. "Right."

"I'm also thinking…Peaches would make an excellent name for a baby."

"Peaches, Britt?" Santana asks and Brittany nods. Santana shakes her head. "Sorry, Britt, but that's a no."

"_Well_," Brittany drawls, knowingly. "Do _you_ have any names in mind?"

Santana smirks. "You think you're so slick," she says, shaking her head at her wife's goofy smile. "Rubbing my feet to get me to talk about baby names when I told you yesterday I didn't want to yet."

"Come on, San," Brittany says, dragging her index finger along the arch of Santana's foot, tickling gently. "Just humor me."

Santana shakes her head, a bashful smile taking up residence on her face. Both hands come to her stomach now, rubbing slowly. "I…this is going to sound so stupid, but, I actually have a couple of names in mind. And they're only girls' names because I can't shake this feeling that we're having a girl," Santana says, feeling a tad embarrassed for some reason. "I dunno, call it women's intuition or something."

She brings her eyes back up to meet Brittany's and finds her wife looking at her so warmly, so fondly, that it makes her want to cry.

"What are the names?" Brittany asks, her voice gone soft.

"Oh, well uh, the first is…the first is Maya," Santana says, a gentle smile on her face and Brittany stops her right there.

"That's perfect," Brittany interrupts as Santana starts on to continue.

"But I've got oth-"

"No," Brittany says, stopping her ministrations to her feet and sliding down the couch until Santana's basically in her lap. "No, no others," she whispers, looking almost reverent as she brings her own hands to rest over Santana's still on Santana's stomach. She stares fondly, her smile almost too endearing. "Hey Maya," Brittany whispers and Santana feels her throat close up again.

* * *

_**Love is…comforting away the nightmare.**_

She didn't used to be such a light sleeper.

As a matter of fact, Santana'd been majorly worried for that one year they lived in separate states and installed –unbeknownst to Brittany – one of those window alarms, just in case some seedy person tried to break in.

Santana probably should have let her know because Brittany's neighbors weren't too pleased with that 3AM wake-up call when she tried sneaking back into her own house after curfew.

Plus, Brittany almost fell out of the tree when it went off.

The point is it used to take a lot to break Brittany from a restful slumber.

But now…

Now, a creak on the floorboards fifty feet away startles Brittany awake.

It makes sneaking up on her next to impossible and also has provided Santana with – due to numerous nights avoiding Brittany's flailing elbows – the added skill of having cat-like reflexes.

So, Maya's presence in their room doesn't really surprise Brittany.

She'd heard the little girl climb out of bed and switch on every light before pitter-pattering down the short hallway to their room.

"I had a bad dream."

Now, that's surprising.

It shouldn't be surprising to Brittany that a young child would have a bad dream – the surprising bit is that it's _Maya_ who's had the bad dream.

Maya never has bad…anything.

Let alone bad dreams.

Santana starts to stir and now Brittany can make out the silhouette of their little girl in her sleep shorts and shirt, her little fist rubbing at her eyes.

"I'm scared," the young one goes on to say, her lower lip pouting in a way that would be adorable if Brittany weren't overly concerned with the situation.

Santana, finally awake now, clicks her tongue. "Pobrecita," she murmurs gently, pushing her body up until she's in a sitting position. "Come on," Santana says, smiling warmly at her daughter, then at Brittany. "I think I know what can make this all better."

***o*O*o*O*o***

Mere minutes later, Brittany's lying on the blanket covered floor in Maya's bedroom, staring up through the sheets at the whimsical shapes and shadows the lamp is casting overhead.

Maya's snuggled into her side and Santana brings another blanket in before settling down on the other side of their daughter.

"The good thing about forts is," Santana says, bringing the folds of cover up so that they hide them all comfortably, "They chase all the bad dreams away, leaving only the good ones. Or at least that's what Pop-Pop Pierce told me and your mom a long time ago."

It's only then that Brittany truly remembers, her memory enlightened by the somewhat shy smile Santana's wearing, what Santana's referencing.

A different night, many, _many_, years ago, and two scared little girls.

Her dad spent the entire night with them under those sheets, telling them wonderful stories until they finally dozed off from sheer exhaustion.

It was probably one of the best nights of Brittany's young life.

"Yeah," Brittany nods, pressing a kiss into Maya's hair as her eyes settle on her wife's. "The fort'll keep you safe."

* * *

_**Love is…staying young at heart.**_

She's supposed to be watering the grass.

That's what a mature, young woman would do when tasked with the chore.

And, _technically_, she still is.

See, about a half an hour ago Brittany's mom came into her bedroom and asked her to please water the grass and Brittany went on to do so, but Santana declined to join, so Brittany left her in her bedroom, alone.

Then, Brittany figures Santana must've gotten bored or something because, not even fifteen minutes later, her best friend was bounding out of the front door.

She still didn't help though – more intent to relax on one of the lounge chairs Brittany's parents have scattered about their front lawn.

Only, she's not really relaxing, not really.

Because every time Brittany looks up she sees Santana snap her eyes away, her neck turning her face to another direction so swiftly that Brittany thinks she's going to eventually give herself whiplash.

(She's been doing that a lot lately, actually; staring at Brittany. Ever since they kissed those couple of weeks ago. Well, really, Brittany'd been doing most of the kissing and Santana had just kind of stood there dumbfounded and unmoving until eventually letting out a nervous giggle and swiping her fingers across her lips.

Brittany kind of really liked that.)

But it's cute, Brittany thinks with a knowing smile, as she directs the powerful stream of water over so that it sprinkles on her mother's row of daisies.

Santana's cute when she's pretending not to want something, especially now that they're grown up and aren't supposed to want certain things – whether it be the last French fry from Mickey D's, or that pajamas with the feet in them, or when she ducks her head at the last possible moment and pulls Brittany into a tight hug instead of a kiss.

She always looks like this kid that doesn't know how to ask and it's adorable if Brittany had to describe it, and Santana is literally _running_ from the word adorable these days.

But, Brittany thinks there's something even more adorable, though:

The look on Santana's face when she calls her out on it.

"Hey!" Brittany shouts suddenly, playful smile full on her face. "I see you watching me!"

Santana almost jumps, startled, but she relaxes again just as quickly, trying to be aloof, cool. "No I'm not."

"You totally are," Brittany says with a laugh, but then she shrugs, watering the begonias. "It's fine though. I like you watching me," she teases, looking on as Santana's lips twist this way and that, trying not to smile.

"I wasn't," Santana sniffs, haughtily. "You're imagining things."

"Oh am I?" Brittany says, grinning wickedly, but Santana must be so freaked out by Brittany messing with her that she doesn't notice.

"Yeah y-AIIIIHHHH!" Santana shrieks, jumping up from the chair quickly as the water sprays her directly in the face. "BRITTT!" she screeches.

Brittany laughs, unfettered as she soaks her best friend completely, ignoring Santana's protests.

Finally, she stops, barely containing giggles when she notes Santana's drowned rat face. "I'm sorry, m'lady," Brittany says. "Were you saying something?"

"Yeah," Santana grumps, trying to wick the water off her arms. "I was saying…that's I'm going to kick your butt, Britt-Britt," she laughs, lurching forward suddenly and somehow wrangling the water hose from Brittany's grip.

(Okay, truthfully, Brittany kind of let her take it.

But it's totally worth it.)

* * *

_**Love is…what makes a chore a pleasure. **_

"And don't forget to get some rainbow sprinkles, San," Santana hears, not even able to see her wife's head over her stomach but she can hear the woman so she knows she's still there. "You know, for my mashed potatoes."

"I know," Santana says, smiling as she leans over to give Brittany a kiss. "Anything else, Britt-Britt?"

The seconds tick by and she looks on as Brittany's face scrunches adorably, mentally scanning through the recesses of her mind to see if she's forgotten anything. "Nope, that's all," she finally says and Santana smiles again.

"Okay then," she mumbles, kissing Brittany once more. "I'll be right back," she continues, pressing two more kisses against Brittany's sweater-covered tummy. "Don't have babies while I'm gone."

Brittany laughs. "I'll try not to."

***o*O*o*O*o***

The minute Santana steps back into the door she knows it but Brittany's cute worried look is too good to pass up.

"What's the matter, Britt-Britt?"

Brittany fiddles her thumbs around one another. "You're gonna get mad."

"I won't," Santana promises, closing the door behind her and setting the bag of groceries down on the side table. "Now, tell me what's wrong?"

"I forgot to ask you to pick up some horseradish jelly," Brittany says, sounding miserable about it. "Actually, I didn't forget but I got hungry while you were gone and I went to make me a sandwich and I'd gotten the onions and pickles all set, and the pimento loaf, but then I couldn't find the horseradish jelly and then I found it but the jar was empty because it's my new favorite you know and I was gonna call you but on the way to the counter to get my cell, one of the babies shifted and then I had to pee and by the time I made it back over to my phone you were walking in the door and…I don't really want to ask except I'm really hungry and want that sandwich and I know you just came from the store-"

"Britt," Santana interrupts, placing her hands on Brittany's shoulders to calm her.

She's standing right in front of Brittany, her wife's larger tummy pressing against her own, "I'll go get you some horseradish jelly."

The way Brittany smiles you'd think she'd just been offered several (thousand) orgasms. "You will?"

Santana chuckles, kissing her firmly. "Of course I will. Taking care of you is not a chore, never has been. And it's especially not now that you're having my babies."

Now Brittany's eyes grow a little watery and she laughs that fluttery laugh she has right before she's about to get emotional. "You're so getting laid tonight," she murmurs.

"Oh Britt," Santana sighs patronizingly, tugging Brittany into her arms for a quick hug, "You'd better believe it."

* * *

_**Love is…willing her to call you.**_

The bell's about to ring and Brittany just wills this day to go faster, her eyes watching the second and minute hands draw agonizingly closer to the large number twelve.

She just wants this day to end because it's pretty much _the worst one of her life ever._

It started with her oversleeping because her alarm didn't go off because she didn't set it because she'd fallen asleep with the phone in her hand and still apparently on with Santana.

In fact, the only reason she woke up was because of the 'good morning' text her girlfriend always sends her.

So, she had to skip breakfast – which pissed her off because _French toast _– and she missed the bus so she had to double time it to school just so she wouldn't miss all of first period.

She'd barely managed to make it through her first four classes before lunch at which time she kicked herself mentally because her awesome ass lunch is still sitting inside the fridge at home so that she had to eat questionable meat loaf and lumpy potatoes for lunch.

Add to that the small fire in Chem, her forgotten English literature book, and the graded History paper – the red D- standing out prominently on the cover page – sitting atop her desk and all she wants to do is go home, climb under the covers and sleep until today becomes a distant memory.

Honestly though?

If Brittany could just, like, talk to Santana, she could possibly make it through the day without disappearing.

Like, if she could just whip out her cell phone and dial her best/girl friend up it she's feel indef…indefin….a whole lot better.

But she knows she can't because Santana's busy at school with practice and classes and friends all her own – and she has her own problems and tasks to work through, and really, Brittany doesn't want to make her feel even worse about not being here.

After all, it was Brittany who told her to go in the first place.

But still…maybe if Santana just calls her.

Like, it'd be awesome if Santana would just inherently know she needs her.

Like some sort of Lesbian Bat Signal.

Maybe like a giant V in the sky.

The bell finally rings and Brittany's out of her seat like a shot, scooting past Sam and Tina when they try to get her attention.

She has one goal and one goal only.

Get.

Home.

Now.

***o*O*o*O*o***

Her phone's silent the entire walk home – well, except a 'I'm kicking you off the Cheerios' text from Coach but she gets those like all the time.

Coach kicked her off once for breathing too loudly.

And Santana for being left-handed.

At any rate, Brittany knows her wish to be like Professor Xavier didn't come true because Santana hasn't called yet in spite of her mental 'please, please, _please _call' messages.

It sucks.

Thankfully, nobody's home yet which surprises her at first but then she remembers that she's home a whole hour earlier than usual because she blew off practice.

She's grateful for the empty home though because if she has to look at the dejection in her mother's eyes after another bad grade, that'll just destroy any hope for today turning around.

Brittany tromps up the stair, dragging her backpack behind her and barely acknowledges Lord Tubbington before face-planting into the mess of blankets she'd left in disarray.

She toes of her sneakers and just lays there, phone still clutched in her hand as she looks across the room to where Tubbs is lying in her desk chair.

"Don't ask, okay?" she tells him, not in the mood for his prying. "I just want to lay here for a little while. Like, forever."

Lord Tubbington yawns and stretches, blinking his eyes lazily.

"Stop looking at me like that," she semi-snaps at him, looking to her still mute phone.

_Ring_, she thinks, the screen almost mockingly black. _Ring, ring, ring._

"RING!" she finally says aloud, reaching her breaking point and bouncing the damned thing off her bed so that it flops harmlessly into a pile of clothes.

Brittany groans and folds her arms under her head, burying her face into them and kicking her legs in frustration.

But then…

_She got me speedin' in the fast lane_

_Pedal to the floor, man; Tryna to get back to her love…_

_Best believe she got that good thang_

_She my lil' hood thang; Ask around they know us…_

_They know that's my (BUSS IT) Baybayyy…_

_Everybody know that's my (BUSS IT) Baybayyy…_

_Everybody know that's my…_

Brittany almost breaks her neck rolling off of her bed, haphazardly sifting through the pile of clothes until she finally has her phone again, Santana's smiling face large on the screen and she slides her thumb across the space to answer, her breaths rapid as she almost shouts out a _hello_.

"Hey Britt-Britt," Santana says sweetly, her voice giving away the fact that she's grinning widely and Brittany just sighs, letting the relief soak into her bones as she leans back against her bed.

"Hey San."

* * *

_**Love is…letting her let off steam.**_

It's raining when Santana makes it back to the apartment and she is not in a good mood.

Brittany can tell by the way their door rattles against the hinges as her girlfriend slams it closed.

Also, the amount of swear words.

"Fuckin' torrential downpour comin' out of fuckin' nowhere," Santana grumbles, her jacket drenched as she sloughs it off.

She must have been using it as a makeshift umbrella.

Ineffectively, Brittany notes, when she sees Santana's soaked hair.

"Why is mother nature being such an asshole?" she continues to rant, shedding wet clothes along the way.

"Hi, honey," Brittany finally offers sweetly. "How'd your meeting go?"

At this Santana finally stops about the weather, her dark eyes flashing as the lock with Brittany's.

"Sometimes, I really wish I were a boy, Britt," she says, rolling her eyes as she shimmies out of damp jeans on her way to their bedroom.

Brittany follows.

"I mean, I'd miss my boobs because, even though they're not really for me to play with, they're a pretty decent set," she admits, peeling off her shirt now. "But then I'd get to sing as many songs about the _girl_ that I'm in love with as I want and no one would care. And we could get married wherever we wanted and I wouldn't have to keep singing songs about some imaginary, non-existent _boy_. Just, ugh, Britt. People suck so bad."

"I know," Brittany nods, picking up the wet clothes.

"And, I wish that was the worst part, but it's not. Then I end up feeling so damn guilty because I'm basically pretending that you're not the most important person in my life," Santana goes on, slipping on new shirt. "I'm just going along with letting the world think that I'm completely available and heterosexual." She frowns. "It's gross."

"You know I don't care about that," Brittany assures her, draping the clothes across the top of the hamper. "I know how you feel and that's enough."

"Is it though?" Santana can't help but ask and she looks so damn frustrated that Brittany just wants to hold her forever – never letting go.

"Come here," Brittany says, quickly striding across the room again until she's sitting on the foot of their bed.

Santana shuffles over and plops down, lower lip poked out – and idly Brittany wonders if their kids will do the same thing someday – and Brittany shifts back as soon as she's there, gesturing for Santana to lie down.

She waits until her girlfriend is on her stomach with her arms folded and chin resting atop them before she swings her left leg over to straddle her, rubbing her hands together to warm them before slipping them under Santana's shirt.

"I know everything is really unfair right now," she starts quietly, efficiently and effortlessly working over the knots in Santana's back, "But, just… forget the rest of the world for awhile. Forget about everything and everyone and just let it be us," she continues, leaning down for a moment to kiss the back of Santana's neck.

Santana lets out a stuttered sigh and Brittany smiles, feeling and seeing Santana finally let go and relax.

"Don't let it bother you, tonight," Brittany adds, her fingers and palms caressing softer than soft skin, "Because right now, nothing else matters, okay? Just us."

* * *

_**Love is…giving her another chance. **_

They've had another fight.

Their third this week.

Santana's not exactly sure what to attribute all of this nastiness to but Brittany hasn't worked her nerves this bad since they were pre-pubescent and scrawny.

It's just…with college looming and Brittany's apparent disinterest in any semblance of a near future together, she feels like she has the right to be annoyed.

Hell, pissed even.

How could Brittany keep the fact that she's flunking out of school a secret from her?

Aren't girlfriends supposed to share stuff like that with one another?

Well, apparently not, because she's been left completely and totally in the dark.

It's almost enough to make her scream, she thinks as she leans back against the row of lockers, massaging the skin between her eyebrows momentarily.

_Or_, Santana smirks, eyes focusing in on the mass of red hair across the hall, _make someone else scream._

Jacob must sense fear or something because he spots her at the same time she makes her move and starts running, barely escaping the wedgie attack by ducking into a storage closet.

Santana tugs on the door handle. "Open the door, JBI."

"No!" the boy squeaks.

"Open the door. I just want to talk to you," she says, trying to keep her voice calm.

"No, you don't," he shouts out, "You want to kill me."

"Well, yeah, _now _I do," she yells, yanking on the handle again and getting it open momentarily before he yelps and pulls more determinedly.

"Santana," Mercedes asks, coming upon the scene. There's not a lot of other people in the hallway but the few that are around are watching the show, "What on earth are you doing?"

"Nothing," Santana answers guiltily, letting go of the door handle immediately.

"She's trying to kill me!" Jacob squeaks/yelps and Santana kicks the door violently to shut him up.

"I'm not," she refutes. "He's overreacting."

"She had the wedgie-face," Jacob adds.

"Okay, okay, okay," Mercedes says, waving her hands around. "I think I know what's going on here. Come on," Mercedes says to her, grabbing Santana's arm and pulling her away before she can protest.

Mercedes tugs her all the way to an empty classroom and Santana readily follows, though she sulks the entire time. "Now, are you going to tell me what this is about like I don't already know or am I just going to have to say it?"

When Santana just stands there, arms folded, Mercedes has her answer.

"You know," Mercedes says, "You're both too grown for this. What ever happened to talking out your problems?"

"What ever happened to minding your own business?" Santana snaps back, instantly regretting it but still too pissed to let it show.

Mercedes just narrows her eyes at her. "You're right. My mistake. Stay miserable," Mercedes says, turning to leave.

Santana sucks her teeth in frustration, whimpering Mercedes' name out so pathetically that she can't hardly believe it came out of her mouth.

Thankfully, Mercedes doesn't press, just comes back to her friend and pulls out one of the desk chairs before sitting down at another.

Santana shuffles over, dropping down onto the vinyl seat like a sack of potatoes.

"It's just…"she starts, trying to find the words, "It's like she doesn't even care, you know? Like, oh, I'm not graduating this year like we thought I would so I have to do another year at McKinley while you're off God knows where Santana."

"I'm sure she cares Santana," Mercedes says, tentatively brushing a comforting hand along the other girl's back.

"I just don't know why she didn't tell me," Santana nearly cries. "Like, why couldn't she just tell me?"

"Because I didn't want to disappoint you," Brittany speaks up from the doorway and when Santana looks Brittany's picking at the wood frame, staring at the spot there intently.

"Britt," Santana says brokenly, her eyes following Brittany's movement as her girlfriend moves toward her.

"I know you think I'm a genius Santana but what genius flunks senior year at McKinley?" Brittany says, rolling her eyes a little and Santana swallows thickly because self-deprecation is not something she likes on seeing on Brittany, like, ever. "I know I should have told you I was having a hard time but I tried to fix it on my own by studying extra hard and paying attention in class but it didn't work and by then it was too late to do anything about it and…I didn't want to tell you and have your face look like it did at BreadstiX. You looked like I'd smashed your most favorite CD."

"Brittany," Santana says when her girl is finally done talking, her voice soft as she looks up at Brittany, "You're right. I am disappointed in you."

Brittany looks as if she wasn't expecting to hear that.

Her eyes widen and her lower lips trembles just a little but Santana's already rising out of her seat, stepping around the desk so that she and Brittany are standing face to face.

"I'm disappointed that, even after all this time, you think that anything would make me think less of you," Santana says. "We're together now, though. We're girlfriends. And being girlfriends means that you tell me about important stuff, even if you think it's going to hurt. We have to be honest with one another, Britt-Britt."

"I know," Brittany says, earnestly. "I do. I should have told you." Brittany bites her lip suddenly, looking bashfully down at Santana. "Are you still mad at me?"

Santana watches her a long while before finally smiling. "Yes, I am."

"Santana," Brittany pouts, stomping her foot a little in frustration.

"Well, maybe I could be persuaded," Santana hedges coyly, waiting for recognition to dawn on Brittany's features.

Mercedes's eyebrow rises as she watches the two girls standing in front of her get closer. "Uh, guys?"

"Hmm," Brittany starts teasingly, once she catches on. "I wonder how I can convince you."

Santana chuckles as Brittany's hands bracket her, letting Brittany back her up a little until the desk table is brushing against the back of her thighs. "I have no idea," she murmurs, draping her arms around Brittany's neck.

"I'm still here guys," Mercedes speaks up again.

"Maybe this'll work," Brittany mumbles, letting her lips claim Santana's, smiling into the embrace and Mercedes squeaks a little.

"Still here," she says, sliding back in her seat as Santana inadvertently leans against her for balance, "I'm _still_ here."

Brittany and Santana just keep on kissing.

* * *

_**Love is…giving her most of your French fries.**_

Quinn's not exactly sure when she and Santana became friends.

They don't really have much in common. In fact, aside from Cheerios and attending the same school, she and Santana are as different as day and night.

She guesses they hang out mostly because of Brittany, their mutual friend, although Quinn has no delusions about where Brittany's allegiance truly lies.

Still, she and Santana can manage to be around each other in an almost civil way at times, even though things between them have been getting weirder now that Sue wants a new head cheerleader.

She just hopes their friendship is strong enough to withstand a little friendly competition.

"Why is this line so damn long?" Santana grumbles, staring up at the menu ahead with longing. "I'm starving."

"You shouldn't have done those ten extra suicide sprints," Quinn reprimands lightly, rolling her eyes.

"I was just showing a little dedication," Santana says with a smirk.

"You were just showing off," Quinn says in return. "And it didn't even work. She still picked Brittany to stay after."

"Yeah, whatever," Santana murmurs, not perturbed. "That's 'cause Britt's a kick ass dancer," she adds almost absently, a small smile on her face."

"You know who else moves pretty well?" Quinn hedges, nudging her friend with her elbow, "Mike Chang."

"Ugh, don't touch me," Santana grunts, moving away. "And don't start with that again."

"What?" Quinn laughs, nonplussed. "He totally likes you."

"Don't they all?" Santana says dryly.

"Well, what about Puck?" Quinn asks.

"Puck's a douche."

"Well yeah," Quinn agrees, moving up in the line, "But you kissed him. Twice."

"So what?" Santana grumbles with a shrug. "Maybe I just like kissing people."

"Ugh," Quinn says, irritated now. "You're so annoying when you're hungry."

"I know," Santana agrees. "I swear, the minute I get my food I'm gonna gulp it down like a kid a day removed from fat camp."

Quinn stares silently ahead for a minute.

"That was an excellent analogy."

"Yeah?" Santana asks shyly. "I've been practicing them for Coach."

"You're such a suck up."

***o*O*o*O*o***

Finally – and Quinn truly does mean finally, if Santana had cranked about her stomach growling one more time – they get their food because for some reason this Burger King is unbearably crowded on a Thursday afternoon and Santana's got everything she's ordered spread out on the table in front of her, ready to dive in.

"You're drooling," Quinn comments amused.

Santana rolls her eyes, opening up another ketchup packet to add to the pool already swimming on her tray. "Shut up. I told you I was hungry."

Quinn's eyes her friend's tray greedily, looking from the tray loaded with a burger and fries to her dry, limp salad.

She sighs.

"I should have gotten fries or something," Quinn says ruefully, hoping against hope that Santana will offer her one, but no such offer is forthcoming she knows when Santana only laughs.

"You're the idiot that ordered rabbit food," Santana snarks, chomping away on a fry.

Quinn huffs, pushing her food around before reaching across the table, intent on stealing a fry but Santana's reflexes are quick and she smacks Quinn's hand away.

"Back off, Fabray," she barks, unapologetic. "Keep your grubby hands away from my food."

"Stop the violence."

Quinn's pout falls away when she sees Brittany standing next to their table, the girl hesitating for just a second before sliding into the booth on Santana's side.

"Tell Quinn to eat her own damn food then," Santana grumbles, though the normal bite in her bark isn't there all of a sudden.

"Santana won't share, Britt," Quinn says.

"Eat your own damn food, Quinn," Brittany echoes, propping her feet up on the opposite side of the booth, next to Quinn.

Quinn scoffs, grumpily eating a forkful of lettuce while glaring at the two of them.

Brittany stretches a little before leaning her head against Santana's shoulder.

"What did Coach want?" Santana asks absently and Quinn notes that she doesn't shove _Brittany_ away from her.

"She just wanted to ask if I wanted to show some of the girls who are having trouble the new routine," Brittany says through a yawn. "I told her I could but I asked for an assistant and she said yes."

Quinn's brow furrows. "Who'd you pick?"

Brittany smiles, somewhat shy, shifting her head on Santana's shoulder so that she can see her. "Santana."

Santana ducks her head down a little, bashful. "Cool."

Brittany nods, looking back across the table to Quinn. "I'm hungry," she says absently. "Can I have some fries?"

Quinn can't hide her surprised look when all Santana does is shyly push the fry container over.

* * *

_**Love is…someone who makes your day go with a smile.**_

**Rachel**

_Santana's smiling at me._

_Why is Santana smiling at me?_

_Oh, now she's coming over._

_Okay Rachel._

_Be cool._

_Just act casual._

"Good morning, Santana."

"Oh," Santana says, having just noticed Rachel, "Hiya Hobbit. Beautiful day, wouldn't you say?"

_Okay, Rachel._

_That was _kind of _nice._

_Proceed with caution._

"But it's raining out."

_Stupid Rachel._

_Stupid, stupid._

Santana only shrugs. "Still pretty great by my estimations," she says, patting Rachel on the shoulder twice before rushing by her. "See you in Glee club, midget."

Rachel can only watch her leave, still in awe of the fact that Santana voluntarily touched her.

***o*O*o*O*o***

**Puck**

I rap my knuckles against the back of her chair and Samantha – sophomore, blonde, Cheerio – turns around with that _look_ on her face.

You know the one: the one that's supposed to look like annoyed boredom but really is just a front for how much they want to get all. Up. On. This.

Quinn mastered that look.

Anyway, I'm about to go into my routine – the I don't even really like you but after a few wine coolers anything in a skirt looks good routine – but then my view's obstructed by yet another pleated skirt.

Note to self: Figure out when I started recognizing Santana by the front of her pleated skirt.

"Hey," she says and that's all and I'm so shocked by the lack of insult that all I can do is grunt in response.

"Can I sit here?"

Maybe I need to clean my ears.

"What?"

Santana just rolls her eyes, sliding into the seat next to me without waiting for my reply.

She can't blame me though.

Like, seriously, when is the last time Santana Lopez _asked _me for anything?

Girl's about the take…and I'm a natural giver so it's always worked out between us.

This, however, is creepy.

Can you say invasion of the body snatchers?

I'm so thrown off that I completely forget about…whatever the hell her name is and instead focus on the way Santana's drumming her thumbs against the desk.

"Can I ask you something?" she says suddenly, ceasing the drumming.

Again with the questions.

"Sure," I shrug.

"You know how to play guitar right?"

"I…do?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Santana, you're freaking me out. Are you gonna punch me in the nuts or something?"

"I want you to teach me how to play guitar," she blurts out, not looking at me. Then she does, a bit of the Santana _I'm_ used to seeing making an appearance as she smirks. "You're _going _to teach me how to play guitar."

"Psh," I dismiss, even though I subtly – who am I kidding? I'm totally obvious about it – place my text book over my man-meat to protect it. "Like hell I am. I mean, what's in it for me?"

As quick as a shot, Santana's hand shoots out and twists the hell out of my nipple, giving me a purple nurple for the ages.

"Okay, okay. I'll give you lessons," I grunt out, grateful as hell when she turns me loose.

Fuck.

What the hell did I pierce that shit for?

***o*O*o*O*o***

**Kurt**

"Now, today class, at one of your peer's insistence – a peer who shall remain nameless," Mrs. Hagberg drawls, even as she shoots a nice long glance in Kurt's direction, "we're going to make chocolate soufflés."

Kurt preens a bit in his seat as Mrs. Hagberg goes over the ingredients they'll need, everything she's itemizing already pre-measured and ready to go at his table when he hears Azimio sigh beside him.

"Dude, what the hell is a dollop? Dollop ain't in no metric system," the boy barks and soon another classmate joins him.

"How fluffy do the egg whites have to be?"

"I ate all my chocolate," another adds.

"Kurt," Mrs. Hagberg calls, "I'm gonna need your help with this."

"On it," Kurt says giddily, more than willing to assist anyone with their culinary endeavors.

Twenty minutes in and things have settled down considerably.

Azimio's somehow managed to slow his manic stirring into a gentle fold and the kid that ate all of his chocolate has since upchucked it all (it was unsweetened), so Kurt would consider this class a success.

And then…

"_I've got sunshine, on a cloudy day…when it's cold outside, I've got the month of May..."_

Kurt slowly gravitates toward the sound and lo and behold, he finds Santana there expertly mixing her soufflé and pouring the mixture into her baking pan.

She's almost in another world, paying him no mind as she sings, smiling to herself while wearing her little apron.

"…_I guess you say…what can make me feel this way…my girl…"_

"That's a really good job Santana," Kurt admires, gesturing toward the dish and Santana startles, caught.

But instead of the normal frown and biting remark he's accustomed to she just smiles and shrugs, looking rather shy.

"Well, Britt's so bad with recipes that I've had a lot of practice," she says in response. Just saying Brittany's name however, makes the girl light up so much more than usual.

Kurt probably shouldn't ask but with that look and the singing and…well, he's always been a little nosey anyway.

"Do you and Brittany cook together a lot?" he asks, feigning innocence.

But Santana's not one to be played and she fixes him with this look, a knowing look.

He can almost hear her sarcastic reply but then she surprises him again. "We do."

Kurt's little smile turns even more curious now, watching her walk her baking dish over to the wall oven.

"Stop staring at me," she says. "It's weird."

***o*O*o*O*o***

**Mike**

Mike almost falls when the chair he's leaning against is pulled out suddenly and he's even more startled when he notices who's now sitting in it.

"Hey Changri-la," Santana greets, pulling out her notebook and settling into the desk.

Now, it's not that he and Santana aren't cool.

They totally are.

And Santana totally acknowledges him and he thinks her singing is amaze-balls.

(As quiet as it's kept, he even prefers her over Rachel or Mercedes, but he'll deny it if asked.)

So, it shouldn't be weird that she's talking to him because they're virtually best buddies, right?

Right.

But…

That food fight sparked some major drawback from Santana and she's distancing herself away from all things Glee as best she can, including avoiding talking to any of them while they're in school.

"Hey Santana," Mike says slowly, opening up his own notebook. "Um, you are aware that you're talking to me right?"

"Of course, Mikey," Santana grins, her eyes twinkling. "Stop being a silly willy."

Mike's head swivels around so fast he cracks his neck. "A silly who-what-y?"

Santana just chuckles and turns her attention to Mr. Woodson and his Philosophy lesson.

Mike wonders if he's reached Nirvana or something.

***o*O*o*O*o***

Brittany gets to the choir room kind of early – mainly because she's excited to see Santana but also because Santana said she had a surprise for her later.

Brittany's always believed that she can just speed time up by moving just a little quicker.

Call it childish but she thinks it works sometimes.

This time though, maybe she should have re-thought the whole thing because now Rachel's looking at her like she holds the key to the universe.

"Brittany," the brunette gushes, jumping up and quickly striding across to room to meet her. "We were just talking about you."

Brittany tries to keep the look of pure hatred off her face but it's kind of hard to when Rachel's got a grip on her arm. "I hope it wasn't in like, a sexy way, 'cause ew."

"No, don't be silly," Rachel dismisses, flipping her hair and dragging Brittany along until they're standing in front of Mike, Kurt, and Puck.

"We wanted to ask you about Santana," Rachel starts and Brittany shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her tell-tale nervous sign.

"What about Santana?"

"She's been acting weird," Mike says and Kurt cringes at his wording.

"Not weird, per se," he corrects, glaring mildly at a now sheepish Mike, "Just…not like herself."

"Well, I don't know who Percy is but she's been the same old Santana to me," Brittany says, trying to blow them off.

"That's just it though, I mean, she touched me Brittany," Rachel says.

"And she smiled at me," Kurt adds.

They look to Puck. "She made no harmful advances toward my man-bits."

"Look," Brittany starts, brushing by them and heading towards her seat in the back of the choir room, "I don't know what you guys want me to say. Maybe she's having an off day, Puck. Maybe a rainbow appeared over your super-slick, wet-look hair, Kurt." She turns to Rachel. "I have no idea why she touched you but please tell me which hand so I can sanitize it."

"All I know is my Santana is the same Santana's she's always been," Brittany states with authority, finally sitting down in her seat.

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "_Your_ Santana?"

Santana comes into the choir room then, her eyes instantly seeking out Brittany's and when she finds her she breaks out into the biggest smile. "Hey Britt-Britt."

"Hey," Brittany says, watching her girl literally skip toward her. "Saved you a seat," she says, slapping the empty seat next to her and grinning when Santana plops down, not even in the seat a second before scooting it closer to Brittany.

It clicks for them then, Mike, Rachel, and Kurt chorusing an '_oh_'.

Puck?

Not so much.

"What?"

* * *

_**Love is…Sunday morning lie-ins together.**_

Santana doesn't think she's ever been so content in her life.

Sunday mornings are pretty great.

There's just something about lying in the arms of her wife just after daybreak, knowing that there's nowhere they have to go, no place that they have to be, no one they have to meet.

They can just relax, and breathe and be.

It's so tranquil.

"Britt-Britt?" she calls softly and Brittany's arms tighten around her imperceptibly.

"Hmm?"

"This is nice isn't it?" she asks, listening to Brittany's heartbeat.

"Mm," Brittany moans, sifting a little bit as she wakes up a little more. "What is baby?"

"Being like this," Santana answers, letting the fingers of her left hand trail across Brittany's collarbone, "Laying here like we haven't got a care in the world."

Brittany breathes – in and out – and Santana feels it, her eyes slipping closed for a moment. "It is," Brittany answers, reaching with her right hand to trail her fingers languidly through Santana's hair. "It's really, really nice. And I think it's about to become even nicer."

Santana's eyes pop open, her ears picking up on the thumping sounds and this time it isn't Brittany's heartbeat.

"Mama!" Maya yells, throwing open their door with abandon. She runs over the carpet, Jonathan and Sebastian toddling behind her as fast as their little legs can carry them. "

"Look," Maya says, waving a paper around in the air, "The newspaper came and the comics. Can I read it to you, Mommy? Can I? Can I? Can I?"

Santana settles into a more comfortable seated position before reaching down to help Jonathan up, Sebastian having already clamored into Brittany's lap.

"Come on up, Pumpkin," Brittany grins, slapping the spot on the bed between her and Santana and Maya climbs on up, her long limbs making easy work of the task.

She slips in between her two Moms and scholarly holds the paper in front of her, clearing her throat before reading.

Santana ducks her head down to kiss Jonathan's wispy blonde hair and takes another mental snapshot.

Her wife and children, all snuggled up together and relaxed, content to just be – as long as their together.

Yeah.

Sunday mornings these days are pretty damn great.

* * *

**Author's Note #2:** Song lyrics are from Plies' _Bust It Baby Pt. 2 (feat. Ne-Yo)_


End file.
